Mr. Schultzsky evidently heard the sigh. He threw his arms out uneasily, but his head remained in eclipse. His muffled voice came from beneath the blanket:
"Chvatej, Johanna, Ja mam hlat."
Miss Billy started to speak, but Mr. Schultzsky interrupted.
"Get me something to eat. Quick," he ordered.
The first sentence was unintelligible to Miss Billy, but the command was clear. A wild plan of propitiating the old man seized her. She turned to the hall without a word.
The small room adjoining was evidently the kitchen, for a rusty stove stood at one side, and a few shabby dishes were ranged in a cupboard on the other. A half loaf of bread, a piece of salt pork, and a cup partially filled with tea stood on a shelf. There was no other food in sight. The fire had burned low, but Miss Billy poked the coals together and added some fuel.
"Ne davej vec nes jeden," called a muffled voice from the next room.
"He's probably advising me to save on fuel," thought Miss Billy, little guessing how nearly she had arrived at the truth.
She filled the tea-kettle, set it over the blaze, cut a slice of bread, and found a fork. The soup, which she had brought with her, she poured into a tin pan and set on the stove to re-heat. Then she looked about for serving utensils. There was no tray or napkin to be seen, but she covered the bread board with the fringed doily that had accompanied the soup.
As she stepped lightly about her work her spirits rose higher than they had since the news of the landlord's accident. She hugged to herself the grim retribution she was receiving as she scorched her face, as well as the bread, over the coals.