The Gambling Man

‘Now, now, don’t get bright-eyed, nowt may come of it. But I’ll have a try. And if we could put something down to secure it—’ he punched Jimmy on the shoulder—’the fellow might wait, take it in bits like, eh? If he’s not short of a bob he could wait, couldn’t he? And it isn’t everybody that’s going to jump at a place like that. But . . . but as I said, don’t get too bright-eyed. Just tell them what I told you, and if I shouldn’t be back afore they go to bed, tell them . . . well, tell them not to wait up.’

‘Aye, Rory, aye, I’ll do that. And . . . and you be careful.’

‘What have I got to be careful of?’

‘You hear things, I mean along the front, about the schools an’ things. There are some rough customers about.’

‘I’m a bit of one meself.’

‘You’re all right.’

They looked at each other, the undersized bow-legged boy with the angelic face and his thick-set straight-backed, arrogantly attractive-looking half- brother, and each liked what he saw: Rory, the blind admiration in the boy’s face, and Jimmy, the strength, determination and apparent fearlessness in this man he loved above all others.

‘Go on with you, go on.’ Rory thrust out his hand, and Jimmy turned away. Again he was running, and not until he had disappeared from view into the main thoroughfare did Rory swing about and stride along the waterfront in the direction of the pier. But before he came to the high bank known as the Lawe, on which stood the superior houses with their view of the sea and the North and South piers, and which were occupied by ships’ captains and respectable merchants of the town, he turned off and into a street which, from its disreputable appearance, should never have been allowed to lie at the skirt of such a neighbourhood as the Lawe. There were only eight houses in this street and they all had walled back yards and all the doors were locked. It was on the third yard door that he knocked, a sharp knock, rat-tat a-tat, tat-tat, and after some minutes it was furtively opened by a man hardly bigger than a dwarf.

‘Hello, Joe.’

‘Oh. Oh, it’s you, Mr Connor?’

‘Aye, Joe. I wanted a word with you.’

‘Oh well, Mr Connor, I’m off on a message you see.’ He brought his two unusually long and fine-shaped hands in a sweeping movement down the front of his short coat, and Rory, nodding, smiled and said, ‘Aye, you’ve got your best toggery on, must be some special message.’

He had never before seen little Joe dressed like this. He had never imagined he had any other clothes but the greasy little moleskin trousers and the old broadcloth coat he usually wore. Not that he couldn’t afford to buy a new suit because he must do pretty well on the side; besides being a bookie’s runner, little Joe could be called upon to negotiate odd jobs, very odd jobs, along the waterfront. Last year it was said he almost went along the line when two lasses went missing. They couldn’t prove anything against him for he was a wily little beggar. But the case recalled the outcry of a few years earlier when some lasses were shipped off. Afterwards of course this line of business had of necessity quietened down for a time, but nature being what it is a demand for young lasses, especially young white lasses, was always there, and so was Joe.

He said to him now, ‘I want you to get me in some place the night, Joe, like you promised. But no back-yard dos.’

‘Aw, it’ll take time, Mr Connor, an’ I told you.’ He came out into the lane now and pulled the door closed, and as he walked away Rory suited his steps to the shorter ones.

‘Now you can if you like, Joe. You said . . .’

‘I told you, Mr Connor, it takes time that kind of thing. And they’re on to us . . . coppers; they’re hot all round the place.’

‘You have ways and means, you know you have, Joe. An’ I’d make it worth your while, you know that.’

‘Oh, I know that, Mr Connor. You’re not tight when it comes to payin’ up. Oh, I know that. And if I could, I would . . . There’s Riley’s.’

‘I don’t like that lot, I told you last time.’

‘Well, I’ll admit it, they’re a bit rough.’

‘And twisted.’

‘Aw well, you see, I don’t play meself, Mr Connor, so I wouldn’t know.’

‘There’s other places, Joe.’

‘But you’ve got to be known, Mr Connor, an’ . . . an’ it’s me livelihood you know.’

‘You could do it, Joe.’

And so the conversation went on, flattery pressing against caution; but by the time they parted caution had won.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Connor, but . . . but I’ll let you know. I’ll take a walk around your office as soon as I can manage anything for you. That’s a promise; it is.’

Rory nodded, and as he stood and watched the small shambling figure hurry away and disappear around the bottom of the street he repeated bitterly, ‘That’s a promise.’ Then he asked himself the question, ‘Where’s he off to, rigged out like that?’ He wouldn’t need to dress up to go round his usual haunts. He was going some place special?