he spied
the familiar figure of the hunchback moving about the shop and placing
things in order. He swallowed hastily, with the choking sensation of a
parent whose child has at last revolted, for his rival was the
misshapen boy that he had taken off the streets, and clothed and fed
for years. Jonah came to the door for a moment, and, catching sight of
the old man, stared at him fixedly without a sign of recognition.

And suddenly, with a contraction at his heart, a fear and dread of
Jonah swept through Paasch, the vague, primeval distrust and suspicion
of the deformed that lurks in the normal man, a survival of the ancient
hostility that in olden times consigned them to the stake as servants
of the Evil One.

He forgot where he was till the warning snort of a steam tram made him
jump aside and miss the wheels of a bus from the opposite direction by
the skin of his teeth.

And the whole street smiled at the sight of the bewildered old man,
with his silvery hair and leather apron, standing in the middle of the
Road to stare at a dingy shop opposite.

Paasch crossed the street and entered his door again with the air of a
man who has been to a funeral. He had never made any friends, but, in
his gruff, reserved way, he liked Jonah. He had taught him his trade,
and here, with a sudden sinking in his heart, he remembered that the
pupil had easily surpassed the master in dexterity. Then another fear
assailed him. How would he get through his work? for most of it had
passed through Jonah's nimble fingers. Ah well, it was no matter! He
was a lonely old man with nothing but his fiddle to bring back the
memories of the Fatherland.

The week ran to an end, and found Jonah out of pocket. He had planted
himself like a footpad at the door of his old master to rob him of his
trade and living; and day by day he counted the customers passing in
and out of the old shop, but none came his way. As he stared across
the street at his rival's shop, his face changed; it was like a hawk's,
threatening and predatory, indifferent to the agony of the downy breast
and fluttering wings that it is about to strike.

It maddened him to see the stream of people pass his shop with
indifference, as if it were none of their business whether he lived or
starved. The memory of his boyish days returned to him, when every
man's hand was against him, and he took food and shelter with the craft
of an old soldier in hostile country. Even the sho