Again he drummed noisily on the table, and hummed or tried to hum a tune.
Presently he spoke again:

"What's Fan been a-doing, then?"

"You know fast enough; tramping about the streets to sell a box of
matches. A nice thing!"

"How much did she get?"

To this question no answer was returned.

"What did she get, I arsk you?" he repeated, getting up and putting his
hand heavily on her shoulder.

"Enough for bread," she replied, shaking his hand off.

"How much?" But as she refused to answer, he turned to the girl and
repeated in a threatening tone, "How much?"

She sat trembling, her eyes cast down, but silent.

"I'll learn you to answer when you're spoken to, you damn barstard!" he
said, approaching her with raised hand.

"Don't you hit her, you brute!" exclaimed his wife, springing in sudden
anger to her feet.

"Oh, father, don't hit me--oh, please don't--I'll tell--I'll tell! I got