Falk was disconcerted, but he forced himself to say, angrily:
"Can't you give a civil reply to a civil question?"
"Go to hell, and don't stand there swearing at a fellow!—'tention!"
The conversation broke off, and Falk made up his mind. He retraced his footsteps, passed through a narrow street, crossed a market-place, and turned the first corner. Before the door of a dirty-looking house he stopped. Again he hesitated; he could never overcome his besetting sin of indecision.
A small, ragged boy with a squint came running along, his hands full of proofs in long strips; as he was going to pass Falk, the latter stopped him.
"Is the editor upstairs?" he asked.
"Yes, he's been here since seven," replied the boy, breathlessly.
"Has he asked for me?"
"Yes, more than once."
"Is he in a bad temper?"