John turned about; his face was ghastly with weariness and dirt and fury; and as he recognized the head of his family, he drew in a long rasping breath, and his eyes glittered.
‘Open that door,’ he said, standing back.
‘I am going to,’ said Morris, and added mentally, ‘He looks like murder!’
The brothers passed into the hall, the door closed behind them; and suddenly John seized Morris by the shoulders and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. ‘You mangy little cad,’ he said, ‘I’d serve you right to smash your skull!’ And shook him again, so that his teeth rattled and his head smote upon the wall.
‘Don’t be violent, Johnny,’ said Morris. ‘It can’t do any good now.’
‘Shut your mouth,’ said John, ‘your time’s come to listen.’
He strode into the dining-room, fell into the easy-chair, and taking off one of his burst walking-shoes, nursed for a while his foot like one in agony. ‘I’m lame for life,’ he said. ‘What is there for dinner?’
‘Nothing, Johnny,’ said Morris.
‘Nothing? What do you mean by that?’ enquired the Great Vance. ‘Don’t set up your chat to me!’
‘I mean simply nothing,’ said his brother. ‘I have nothing to eat, and nothing to buy it with. I’ve only had a cup of tea and a sandwich all this day myself.’