“Didn't you hear missus say you was to have some food?” said the weak-eyed one.
But Johnny made no reply. He tugged at the street door with the view of getting into the open air as soon as possible. It was a complicated street door, with five or six small handles, and it was only to be opened by a combined tugging of two handles at once.
The weak-eyed one sauntered up to him, with his hands in his pockets, and watched Johnny's efforts with much complacency.
“Go on, old boy, try again. Never give it up, go in and win.” These and other remarks of an encouraging description, intended to spur Johnny on to fresh exertion, had the effect of irritating the poor old gentleman beyond all bounds.
“Damn you; open it, you dog, will you?” exclaimed Johnny with (for him) supernatural vehemence. And the weak-eyed one obeyed with an alacrity which one would have scarcely looked for in a man who a moment before was taking life in such a leisurely manner.
Johnny tottered down the steps, shaking and trembling, and the weak-eyed one contemplated him from the door.
“Poor devil!” exclaimed he. “Mad as flints; quite as mad!”
And Johnny tottered on bravely, until he reached the corner of Guilford Street. He then began to feel that his strength was almost at an end; so he made an effort to turn round the corner, in order to get out of sight of the insolent flunkey, and that accomplished, fell heavily to the ground.
