The bell rang furiously and, when Miss Parker went to the tube, a furious voice called out in a piercing North of Ireland accent:
  —Send Farrington here!

[...; The clerk Farrington is interrogated by Mr Alleyne, proprietor of the solicitors’ firm.]

  —I know nothing about any other two letters, he said stupidly.
  —You - know - nothing. Of course you know nothing, said Mr Alleyne. Tell me, he added, glancing first for approval to the lady beside him, do you take me for a fool? Do you think me an utter fool?
  The man glanced from the lady’s face to the little egg-shaped head and back again; and, almost before he was aware of it, his tongue had found a felicitous moment:
  —I don’t think, sir, he said, that that’s a fair question to put to me.
  There was a pause in the very breathing of the clerks. Everyone was astounded (the author of the witticism no less than his neighbours) and Miss Delacour, who was a stout amiable person, began to smile broadly. Mr Alleyne flushed to the hue of a wild rose and his mouth twitched with a dwarf’s passion. He shook his fist in the man’s face till it seemed to vibrate like the knob of some electric machine:
  —You impertinent ruffian! You impertinent ruffian! I’ll make short work of you! Wait till you see! You’ll apologize to me for your impertinence or you’ll quit the office instanter! You’ll quit this, I’m telling you, or you’ll apologize to me!

[Farrington feels ’his great body again aching for the comfort of the public-house’ and proceeds with acquaintances through a series of drinking places’].

   [...] Presently two young women with big hats and a young man in a check suit came in and sat at a table close by. Weathers saluted them and told the company that they were out of the Tivoli. Farrington’s eyes wandered at every moment in the direction of one of the young women. There was something striking in her appearance. An immense scarf of peacock-blue muslin was wound round her hat and knotted in a great bow under her chin; and she wore bright yellow gloves, reaching to the elbow. Farrington gazed admiringly at the plump arm which she moved very often and with much grace; and when, after a little time, she answered his gaze he admired still more her large dark brown eyes. The oblique staring expression in them fascinated him. She glanced at him once or twice and, when the party was leaving the room, she brushed against his chair and said O, pardon! in a London accent. He watched her leave the room in the hope that she would look back at him, but he was disappointed. He cursed his want of money and cursed all the rounds he had stood, particularly all the whiskies and Apollinaris which he had stood to Weathers. If there was one thing that he hated it was a sponge. He was so angry that he lost count of the conversation of his friends.

[To his mortification, Farrington loses an arm-wrestling competition to a fellow-drinker Weathers, whome he has previously decided he dislikes, and then returns home.]

  —What’s for my dinner?
  —I’m going ... to cook it, pa, said the little boy. The man jumped up furiously and pointed to the fire.
  —On that fire! You let the fire out! By God, I’ll teach you to do that again!
  He took a step to the door and seized the walking-stick which was standing behind it.
  —I’ll teach you to let the fire out! he said, rolling up his sleeve in order to give his arm free play.
  The little boy cried O, pa! and ran whimpering round the table, but the man followed him and caught him by the coat. The little boy looked about him wildly but, seeing no way of escape, fell upon his knees.
  —Now, you’ll let the fire out the next time! said the man, striking at him vigorously with the stick. Take that, you little whelp!
  The boy uttered a squeal of pain as the stick cut his thigh. He clasped his hands together in the air and his voice shook with fright.
  —O, pa! he cried. Don’t beat me, pa! And I’ll ... I’ll say a Hail Mary for you ... I’ll say a Hail Mary for you, pa, if you don’t beat me ... I’ll say a Hail Mary ... .