The Wrong Box

The man stood upon the step, pounding on the panels. His clothes were hideous with filth. Yet Morris knew it was his younger brother. Morris fought down his first impulse of flight. What does it matter now? He looks like murder! he thought with despair, drawing nearer. John turned about, his face ghastly with weariness and fury; and as he recognized the head of his family, his eyes glittered and he drew in a long rasping breath. "Open that door!" he said. When the door closed behind them John suddenly 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 Morris again, so that his teeth rattled and his head smote upon the wall.