“What is it?” said Meg, sitting bolt upright and rubbing her eyes; “somebody’s shouting.”
“And somebody’s crying,” said Robin, sitting up too, but more slowly.
It was quite clear to them, as soon as they were fully awake, that both these things were happening. A man seemed to be quarrelling below. They could hear him stamping about and swearing savagely. And they could hear the woman’s voice, which sounded as if she were trying to persuade him to do or leave undone something. They could not hear her words, but she was crying, and somebody else was crying, too, and they knew it was the boy with the little old face and the hump-back.
“I suppose it’s the woman’s husband,” said Meg. “I’m glad he wasn’t here last night.”
“I wonder if he knows we are here,” said Robin, listening anxiously.
It was plain that he did know. They heard him stumbling up the staircase, grumbling and swearing as he came, and he was coming up to their room, it was evident.
“What shall we do?” exclaimed Meg, in a whisper.
“Wait,” Robin answered, breathlessly. “We can’t do anything.”
The heavy feet blundered up the short second flight and blundered to their door. It seemed that the man had not slept off his drunken fit. He struck the door with his fist.
“Hand out that dollar,” he shouted. “When my wife takes roomers I’m going to be paid. Hand it out.”