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Ye was named John, John Gifford, but ye couldn't seem ter say that in yer baby days, so ye left off the 'John, and called, 'Gifford, 'Gyp, an' 'Gyp' it has been ever since. Don't they call ye that at school? I told the ol' feller what come ter say ye must 'tend school that that was yer name." Gyp did not reply.
"Sorry it's against your will, but can't help it; not used to being ordered about and don't know how to submit, and so I'm going." "Ungrateful girl; actually meditating disobedience on the horse I gave her!" "Easy now, uncle fair and easy. I did not sell my free will for Gyp! I wouldn't for a thousand Gyps! He was a free gift," said Capitola, beginning an impatient little dance about the floor.
Gyp asked Jerry and Graham. The name of the Lincoln "friend" who was giving the award had been carefully guarded. Not one of the younger Westleys suspected Uncle Johnny who sat with them and listened unblushingly and with considerable amusement to their varied comments. "Well, I'll try for it," conceded Graham. "Who wouldn't?
I hadn't forgotten that Polish chap's behaviour to you, my dear." Through Gyp passed a quiver of dread, a vague return of the feelings once inspired by Rosek. "I'm almost sorry you went, Dad. Did you say anything very " "Did I? Let's see! No; I think I was quite polite." He added, with a grim, little smile: "I won't swear I didn't call one of them a ruffian.
"Well, he AIN'T goin' ter school!" the woman insisted, and the officer went his way. Gyp, however, did not believe that he would long remain away from the shanty. He determined to take no chances, and it seemed to him that the safest thing for him to do, was to keep well away from home.
He was in one of his boy-out-of-school moods, elated by applause, mimicking her old master, the idolatries of his worshippers, Rosek, the girl dancer's upturned expectant lips. And he slipped his arm round Gyp in the cab, crushing her against him and sniffing at her cheek as if she had been a flower. Rosek had the first floor of an old-time mansion in Russell Square.
He threw himself on the bench and stared dully at the wood and the signs of work around him, wondering if he should ever come to feel pleasure in them again, while Gyp, dimly aware that there was something wrong with his master, laid his rough grey head on Adam's knee and wrinkled his brows to look up at him.
She might well feel lost now Gyp was gone, but not so lost as himself! His pale-gloved hand the one real hand he had, for his right hand had been amputated at the wrist twisted vexedly at the small, grizzling moustache lifting itself from the corners of his firm lips.
When it grew dark, and he wanted to draw down the blinds, she caught him by the sleeve, and said: "No, no; they'll know we're honeymooners!" "Well, my Gyp, and are we not?" But he obeyed; only, as the hours went on, his eyes seemed never to let her alone.
And suddenly he said: "I suppose they have told you that I am a mauvais sujet." Gyp inclined her head. He looked at her steadily, and said: "It is true. But I could be better much." She wanted to look at him, but could not. A queer sort of exultation had seized on her. This man had power; yet she had power over him. If she wished she could make him her slave, her dog, chain him to her.
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