“For the love of God, Jack, bring us a bit of coal. There must be some left.”

The old man went out of the room.

“It’s no go,” said Mr. Henchy, shaking his head. “I asked the little shoeboy, but he said: ‘Oh, now, Mr. Henchy, when I see work going on properly I won’t forget you, you may be sure.’ Mean little tinker! ’Usha, how could he be anything else?”

“What did I tell you, Mat?” said Mr. Hynes. “Tricky Dicky Tierney.”