“I think he is. If not, I will get him.”
“Let’s go up, then.”
They went up the stairs.
XII
Jason Philip had been invited to a sociable evening in the Shufflers’ Club. He was now enjoying his siesta after his banquet by reading an editorial in the Kurier. One of Bismarck’s addresses had been so humorously commented on that every now and then Jason Philip emitted a malevolent snarl of applause.
He had brought a lemon along home with him; it was lying on a plate before him, sliced and covered with sugar. From time to time he would reach over, take a piece and stick it in his mouth. He smacked his tongue with the display of much ceremony of his kind, and licked his lips after swallowing a piece. His two sons gaped at his hand with greedy eyes and likewise licked their lips.
Willibald was groaning over an algebraic equation. In his pale, pimpled face were traces of incapability and bad humour. Markus, owing to his physical defect, was not allowed to study by artificial light. He helped his mother shell the peas, and in order to make her angry at Philippina, kept making mean remarks about her staying out so long.
Just as the last piece of the lemon disappeared behind Jason Philip’s moustache, the door bell rang.
“There is a man out there,” said Markus, who had gone to the door and was now standing on the threshold, stupidly staring with his one remaining eye.
Jason Philip stretched his neck. Then he got up. He had recognised Daniel standing in the half-lighted hall.