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lousy food and gee I miss mom's cooking and I told them my mother could never cook this good. They wanted to beat me up. The food almost made me weaken to the point of an army career until I discovered you could get this food outside if you made money"
    "Talking about money, Kenneth"
    O'Keefe's jaw clamping. He reached quickly for a bun.
    "Look, Kenneth, I know this is rather an impromptu request, but could you possibly let me have ten quid?"
    O'Keefe looked around with his one eye for the waitress and beckoned her over.
    "Give me my bill, two coffees, two rolls and this bun. I'm getting out of here."
    O'Keefe, hands fore and aft, pulling his cap squarely in place. Picking up his sack he swung it over his shoulders. Dangerfield up, a faithful dog following the precious bone.
    "Kenneth, ten quid, promise to have it to you in four days, be there when you arrive. No question about that. Air tight loan. My father's sending me a hundred quid Tuesday. I say, Kenneth, air tight, your money is safer with me than in your pocket, may get killed on the plane"
    "Thoughtful of you"
    "Make it eight"
    "You're making it eight, I'm not making it anything, I haven't got it. I'm hounded fuckless through the streets, beaten to the wall, scratching up pennies and for the first time in months I've got a few beans to have a bath and haircut and get out and you come and push me to the wall again. Jesus, why do I know poor people."
    They were walking out between the chairs and tables with their glass tops and the waitresses lined along the counter, arms folded over blade breasts, clink of cups and butter balls, and smell of roasted coffee beans. Standing by the high cash desk, O'Keefe fumbling in his pocket Dangerfield waiting.
    "All right, all right, watch me, go ahead. Yeah, you're right, I've got money. You've put me up, fed me, all right, all right but now you're beating me"
    "I've said nothing, Kenneth."
    "Here then, God damn it, here, take it for Christ's sake and get drunk, throw it away, tear it up, do anything but there's one Goddamn thing, I want that money there when I arrive. You've beaten me"
    "Now, Kenneth, no need to feel this way"
    "I'm a fool. If I were rich I could tell you to go to hell. Poor crippling the poor"
    "Poverty is temporary, Kenneth"
    "With you it may be, but I'm not fooling myself, I know damn well that I can go down for ever and stay. This whole damn setup exists to keep me in penury. And I can't stand any more. I had to break my ass to get this dough. Work. Use my head"
    "Tell me how"
    "Here, read this"
    O'Keefe pulling several penny notebook sheets from his pocket Scribbled torn and dirty.
    "Rather scruffy, Kenneth"
    "Read it"
    This is my position. I haven't got any clothes to wear nor have I eaten in two days. I have to have my fare to France where I have a job. In my present condition I have absolutely no scruples or any regard for the respectable name of O'Keefe. I am therefore going to present myself to the U.S. Consulate for deportation and see that it gets an ample airing in the "Irish Press" and "Irish Independent" who would find it extremely amusing and good gas that an American is in the ould country without a penny, ignored by his relatives. If I get money by the end of the week I will leave for France immediately where you won't hear of me again. Quite frankly either alternative would suit me however I must think of my relatives and what the neighbors would say. I think it would kill my mother with shame.
    Yours truly,
    K. O'KEEFE.
    O'Keefe drew another letter from his pocket
    "Here's the reply from Father Moynihan. He's the one my mother gave me the shoes for and I told the customs man that if I had to pay a penny of duty on them I'd fling them into the sea. He let them through, Jesus, will I ever forget this bastard"
    Dangerfield holding the blue notepaper between his hands.
    I find myself incapable of even addressing you since this is the most despicable letter I have ever had the displeasure to receive