For a week after Anna's escape Herman Klein had sat alone and brooded.
Entirely alone now, for following a stormy scene on his discovery of
Anna's disappearance, Katie had gone too.
"I don't know where she is," she had said, angrily, "and if I did know I
wouldn't tell you. If I was her I'd have the law on you. Don't you look
at that strap. You lay a hand on me and I'll kill you. If you think I'm
afraid of you, you can think again."
"She is my daughter, and not yet of age," Herman said heavily. "You tell
her for me that she comes back, or I go and bring her."
"Yah!" Katie jeered. "You try it! She's got marks on her that'll jail
you." And on his failure to reply her courage mounted. "This ain't
Germany, you know. They know how to treat women over here. And you ask
me"--her voice rose--"and I'll just say that there's queer comings and
goings here with that Rudolph. I've heard him say some things that'll
lock him up good and tight."
For all his rage, Teutonic caution warned him not to lay hands on the
girl. But his anger against her almost strangled him. Indeed, when she
came down stairs, dragging her heavy suitcase, he took a step or two
toward her, with his fists clenched. She stopped, terrified.
"You old bully!" she said, between white lips. "You touch me, and I'll
scream till I bring in every neighbor in the block. There's a good
lamp-post outside that's just waiting for your sort of German."
He had refused to pay her for the last week, also. But that she knew
well enough was because he was out of money. As fast as Anna's salary
had come in, he had taken out of it the small allowance that was to
cover the week's expenses, and had banked the remainder. But Anna had
carried her last pay envelope away with her, and added to his anger at
her going was his fear that he would have to draw on his savings.
With Katie gone, he set heavily about preparing his Sunday dinner. Long
years of service done for him, however, had made him clumsy. He cooked a
wretched meal, and then, leaving the dishes as they were, he sat by the
fire and brooded. When Rudolph came in, later, he found him there, in
his stocking-feet, a morose and untidy figure.
Rudolph's reception of the news roused him, however. He looked up, after
the telling, to find the younger man standing over him and staring down
at him with blood-shot eyes.