"Can you walk a bit?" Tom asked the old lady.
She nodded. Tom paid the driver and the door closed behind him. It was a hard fight to conquer the stairs, and Maria clung like a heavy bag round her deliverer's neck; but on the third floor the old man unlocked a door, walked in before them and lighted a candle. He then sat himself down with his back to them, pulled a grimy piece of newspaper out of his pocket, and was apparently at once absorbed in reading.
The room was a wretched enough place. One of the windows was stuffed with brown paper; a ragged strip of carpet covered only a section of the cracked and dirty boards. There was a grimy bed; the fireplace was filled with rubbish.
Tom helped Maria on to the bed and looked about him. Then in a sudden fit of irritation he went up to the old man and shook him by the shoulder.
"Look here," he said. "This won't do. You've got to do something for her. She may die in the night, or anything. I'll fetch a doctor, if that's what you want, or get something from the chemist's——"
"Oh! go to hell!" said the old man without turning.
An impulse of rage seized Tom, and he caught the old man by the collar, swung him out of the chair, shook him until he was breathless and coughing, then said:
"Now be civil."
The old man collapsed on the bed near his sister, struggled for breath, then screamed:
"You damned aristocrat! I'll have you up before the courts for this; invading a man's peaceable 'ome——"