The dusk was falling when he drew near this place of refuge; and the
first thing that met his eyes was the figure of a man upon the step,
alternately plucking at the bell-handle and pounding on the panels. The
man had no hat, his clothes were hideous with filth, he had the air of a
hop-picker. Yet Morris knew him; it was John.
The first impulse of flight was succeeded, in the elder brother's
bosom, by the empty quiescence of despair. 'What does it matter now?' he
thought, and drawing forth his latchkey ascended the steps.
John turned about; his face was ghastly with weariness and dirt and
fury; and as he recognized the head of his family, he drew in a long
rasping breath, and his eyes glittered.
'Open that door,' he said, standing back.
'I am going to,' said Morris, and added mentally, 'He looks like
murder!'
The brothers passed into the hall, the door closed behind them; and
suddenly John seized Morris by the shoulders and shook him as a terrier
shakes a rat. 'You mangy little cad,' he said, 'I'd serve you right to
smash your skull!' And shook him again, so that his teeth rattled and
his head smote upon the wall.
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