He was pretty successful in Manchester,—a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters of the disaffected. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. They walked two by two to the car, looking the part of 267 two weary spouses supporting their drunken mates after an all-night bender. Imitating the example of Mr. Anna went out. . The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers.
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