"Get away from that window!" snapped Grand, his eyes glittering.
"Oh, say now Bob, treat me fair, treat me right," pleaded Braddock, all at once abject.
"I'll talk to you later on. Get away!"
"Don't throw me down, Bob. I've always done the square thing by you. Didn't I pay up everything I owed you by—"
"Are you going to leave that window?" demanded Grand.
The miserable wretch looked into the deadly eyes of the man inside, and realized. A great sob arose in his throat. He held it back for a moment, but it grew and grew as he saw no pity in the steely eyes beyond.
"My soul!" he groaned, with the bursting of the sob. He withdrew his ghastly face and rushed away in the night, stumbling over ropes and pegs, creating no end of havoc among the men who happened to toil in his path. They ran from him, thinking him mad.
Half an hour later Ernie Cronk came upon him. He was sitting on the curb across the street from the circus lot, his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands—staring, staring through dry, hot eyes at the tented city that was slipping away from him.
"What's the matter?" asked the hunchback, in his high, querulous voice.
The older man did not respond. He did not alter his position when the questioner spoke to him.