Cutty looked into the bowl of his pipe.

"Kitty, when you throw a cobble into a pond, what happens? A splash.
But did you ever notice the way the ripples have of running on and
on, until they touch the farthest shore?"

"Yes. And this is a ripple from some big stone cast into the pond
of southeastern Europe. I understand."

"That's just the difficulty. If you understood nothing it would be
much easier for me. But you know just enough to want to follow up
on your own hook. I know nothing definitely; I have only suspicions.
I calmed that policeman by showing him a blanket police power issued
by the commissioner. I want you to pack up and move out of this
neighbourhood. It's not congenial to you."

"I'm afraid I can't afford to move until May."

"I'll take care of that gladly, to get you out of this garlicky
ruin."

"No, Cutty; I'm going to stay here until the lease is up."

"Gee-whiz! The Irish are all alike," cried the war correspondent,
hopelessly. "Petticoat or pantaloon, always looking for trouble."

"No, Cutty; simply we don't run away from it. And there's just as
much Irish in you as there is in me."