I never could find out what his business was. He always seemed to have money in his pocket. The phone had been disconnected but telegrams came for him and notes by special messenger. Now and then he would disappear for several days. ``Connections'' was all he would say with that smooth hurt smile when I put leading questions. ``Oh he's just an international spy,'' Eileen would shout with her screechy laugh.

Poor devil he cann't have been too happy either. He got no relief from drink because, though sometimes Precious would buy himself a drink if he went out with us in the evening, he'd leave it on the table untouched.

When I was in liquor I rode him pretty hard I guess. Occasionally if I pushed him too far he'd give me a look out of narrowed eyes and the hard cruel bony skull would show through that smooth face of his. ``Some day,'' I told Eileen, ``that guy will kill us both.'' She just wouldn't listen.

Getting drunk every night was the only way I could handle the situation. Eileen seemed to feel the same way. We still had that much in common. The trouble was drinking cost money. The way Eileen and I were hitting it up, we needed ten or fifteen dollars an evening. Eileen must have wheedled a little out of Precious. I raised some kale by hocking the good clothes I had left over from my respectable uptown life, but when that was gone I didn't have a cent. I don't know what we would have done if Pat O'Dwyer hadn't come to town.