“Well, not killed exactly, but badly hurt, and taken to the hospital.”
It was Charlie Wilkes. He had insulted the name of the Father, and Pincher, the pawnbroker, had knocked him down. His head had struck against the curb, and he had been picked up insensible. Then the police had come and Pincher had been taken off to the police station.
“But it's my mother I'm thinking of,” said Brother Andrew, and he brushed his sleeve across his eyes. “You must get away at once, Father. They'll lay everything on you. What's to be done? Let me think! Let me think! How my head is going round and round! There's a train from Euston to the north at five in the morning, isn't there? You must catch that. Don't speak, Father! Don't say you won't.”
“I will go,” said John with a look of utter dejection.
The change that had come over him since the night before startled the lay brother. “But I suppose you've been out all night. How tired you look! Can I get you anything?”
John did not answer, and the lay brother brought some brown bread and coaxed him to eat a little of it. The day was beginning to dawn.
“Now you must go, Father.”
“And you, my lad?”
“Oh, I can take care of myself.”
“Go back to the Brotherhood; take the dog with you——”