| THE |  |
DIAL |
VOJTECH slept soundly (it was a November night when it is good for a man to be in his bed) when suddenly somebody knocked at his window with a stick. There was still a moment for the sleeper to finish his dream, in which the knocking played a certain rôle, both decisive and confused, and then he awoke. And again, again. The sleeper pulled the blankets over his ears and decided not to hear anything. But again the stick rattled on the pane in a sharp and peremptory manner. Vojtech jumped out of bed, opened the window, and saw, down below on the path, a man, muffled up to the throat.
“What do you want here?” he cried, putting into his voice his most violent anger.
“Make me some tea,” replied a hoarse voice from below.
The sleeper recognized his brother and woke up at last. The bitter cold night seized him by the chest.
“Wait a moment,” he called down. He turned on the light, and began to dress himself. As he dressed he remembered that he had not spoken to his brother for two years because they had quarrelled over a legacy. He was so surprised suddenly at his coming that he forgot to put on his boots. Sitting with one boot in his hand he shook his head. But why has he come? Evidently something has happened to him, he finally decided, threw on his clothes, and rushed to the window again. But his brother was not standing there now; he was already at the corner of the street, going away;
