"That's only from the draught," my father said apologetically; "it will soon pass off."
And so it did, but not before the whole room was clouded.
My eyes smarted and my throat felt sore, but I said nothing, and drank the coffee that my father handed me in a cracked cup. I thought of my brother, and could not understand how it was that he gave them no help.
"Where is he?" I asked aloud.
"Who?"
"Charlie."
At that my father grew very sad.
"It is very unfortunate," he replied, "but he has been out of work for sometime."
"Where is he?"
"He is living with us of course."