‘You did, didn’t you, Mike?’ appealed Mrs Halloran.  And Mike, looking straight before him, grunted something which might pass for an admission.  ’You must try to overlook the boy’s manner, sir.  He’s case-hardened, I fear, and it goes sore to a mother’s heart that ever I should rear up a child to be a thief.  But as Halloran said to me, “Take the young limb to his Worship,” Halloran says, “and maybe a trifle of correction by a gentleman in his Worship’s position will have some effect,” he says.  But I hope, sir, you won’t visit all the punishment on Mike, for he didn’t do it alone; and though I’m not sayin’ he don’t deserve all he gets, ’tisn’t fair to make him the only scapegoat—­now is it, sir?’

‘My good woman, I—­I have no such intention,’ stammered the mayor, glancing at the lad again, and liking his appearance worse than ever.

‘I thank your Worship.’  Mrs Halloran dropped a quick curtsey.  ’And so I made free to tell Halloran, who was in doubt of it.  “Mr Pinsent,” I said, “is a just-minded man, an’ you may be sure,” I said, “he’ll mete out the same to all, last as well as first."’

‘Yes, yes!’ The mayor took her up impatiently and paused for a moment, still eyeing the boy.  ’Er—­by the way, what age is your son?’

’Rising fifteen, sir; christened fifteen years ago last St Michael’s Day, which is the twenty-ninth of September, though little good it done him.  He takes after his father, sir.  All the Hallorans shoot up tall, like runner beans; and thick in the bone.  Or so his father says.  For my part, I’ve never been to Ireland; but by the looks of en you’d say not a day less than seventeen.  It seems like blood-money, my takin’ five shillin’ and handin’ the child over—­at his tender age—­and me his own mother that nursed en!’

Here Mrs Halloran, whose emotions had been mastering her for some moments, broke down in a violent fit of sobbing; and this so affected her offspring that he emitted a noise like the hoot of a dog.  As he started it without warning, so abruptly he ended it, and looked around with an impassive face.

It was uncanny.  It shook the mayor’s nerve.  ’My dear Mrs Halloran, if you will let me have a word or two with your son—­’

‘Oh, I know!’ she wailed.  ’That’s how you put it.  But you give me over the money, sir, and let me go quick, before I weaken on it.  You never had a child of your own, Mr Pinsent—­and more’s the pity for the child—­but with one of your own you’d know what it feels like!’

Mr Pinsent felt in his trouser-pocket, drew forth two half-crowns, and pressed them into Mrs Halloran’s dirty palm.  With a sob and a blessing she escaped.  He heard her run sobbing down the passage to the front door.  Then he turned upon Mike.

The boy had sidled round with his back against the wall, and stood there with his left elbow up and his fists half clenched.  For the space of half a minute the mayor eyed him, and he eyed the mayor.