“Did you see who it was?” he whispered to his brother the moment they were safely on the pavement.
John nodded.
“Hyman, in spectacles. He’s grown a beard, too.”
“Yes, but did you also notice——”
“What?”
“He had an empty sleeve.”
“An empty sleeve?”
“Yes,” said William; “he’s lost an arm.”
There was a long pause before John spoke. At the door of their club the elder brother added:
“Poor devil! He’ll never again play on”—then, suddenly changing the preposition—“with a pedigree violin!”