The man bore ignorance on his countenance written large, and worse. Hugh Chisholm turned from him with repugnance.
'He's your brother,' whispered Fordham in his ear, as they moved towards the door.
The expression of Hugh Chisholm's face was stern.
CHAPTER II
[THE WOMAN AND THE COATS]
Mr. Davis looked about him with bloodshot eyes. His battered bowler was perched rakishly on the back of his head, and his hands were thrust deep into his trousers pockets. He did not seem to find the aspect of the room enlivening. His wife, standing at a small oblong deal table, was making a parcel of two black coats to which she had just been giving the finishing stitches. The man, the woman, the table, and the coats, practically represented the entire contents of the apartment.
The fact appeared to cause Mr. Davis no slight dissatisfaction. His bearing, his looks, his voice, all betrayed it.
'I want some money,' he observed.
'Then you'll have to want,' returned his wife.
'Ain't you got none?'