s
brain was working hard. And he suddenly smiled by the light of the
match.

'That child wasn't crying because I was there,' said Mr Blackshaw with
solemn relief. 'Not at all! He was crying because he didn't understand
the candles. He isn't used to candles, and they frightened him.'

And he began to hurry towards the Works.

At the same instant the electric light returned to Bursley. The current
was resumed.

'That's better,' said Mr Blackshaw, sighing.

THE SILENT BROTHERS

I

John and Robert Hessian, brothers, bachelors, and dressed in mourning,
sat together after supper in the parlour of their house at the bottom
of Oldcastle Street, Bursley. Maggie, the middle-aged servant, was
clearing the table.

'Leave the cloth and the coffee,' said John, the elder, 'Mr Liversage
is coming in.'

'Yes, Mr John,' said Maggie.

'Slate, Maggie,' Robert ordered laconically, with a gesture towards the
mantelpiece behind him.

'Yes, Mr Robert,' said Maggie.

She gave him a slate with slate-pencil attached, which hung on a nail
near the mantlepiece.

Robert took the slate and wrote on it: 'What is Liversage coming about?'

And he pushed the slate across the table to John.

Whereupon John wrote on the slate: 'Don't know. He telephoned me he
wanted to see us tonight.'

And he pushed back the slate to Robert.

This singular procedure was not in the least attributable to deafness
on the part of the brothers; they were in the prime of life, aged
forty-two and thirty-nine respectively, and in complete possession of
all their faculties. It was due simply to the fact that they had
quarrelled, and would not speak to each other. The history of their
quarrel would be incredible were it not full of that ridiculous
pathetic quality known as human nature, and did not similar things
happen frequently in the manufacturing Midlands, where the general
temperament is a fearful and strange compound of pride, obstinacy,
unconquerableness, romance, and stupidity. Yes, stupidity.

No single word had passed between the brothers in that house for ten
years. On the morning after the historical quarrel Robert had not
replied when John spoke to him. 'Well,' said John's secret heart--and
John's secret heart ought to have known better, as it was older than
its brother heart--'I'll teach him a lesson. I won't speak until he
does.' And Robert's secret heart had somehow divined this idiotic
resolution, and had said: 'We shall see.' Mag