“Why don’t you send him to the workhouse?” said Mr. Prettyman.  “You’ll have a row with him and the children presently, and he’ll eat you up.  The workhouse is the proper place for him; let his kin claim him, if he’s got any.”

“Those may be your feelings, Mr. Prettyman,” said David, his mind quite enfeebled by the torture of his position.

“What! is he your brother, then?” said Mr. Prettyman, looking at his neighbour Freely rather sharply.

“All men are our brothers, and idiots particular so,” said Mr. Freely, who, like many other travelled men, was not master of the English language.

“Come, come, if he’s your brother, tell the truth, man,” said Mr. Prettyman, with growing suspicion.  “Don’t be ashamed of your own flesh and blood.”

Mr. Palfrey was present, and also had his eye on Freely.  It is difficult for a man to believe in the advantage of a truth which will disclose him to have been a liar.  In this critical moment, David shrank from this immediate disgrace in the eyes of his future father-in-law.

“Mr. Prettyman,” he said, “I take your observations as an insult.  I’ve no reason to be otherwise than proud of my own flesh and blood.  If this poor man was my brother more than all men are, I should say so.”

A tall figure darkened the door, and David, lifting his eyes in that direction, saw his eldest brother, Jonathan, on the door-sill.

“I’ll stay wi’ Zavy,” shouted Jacob, as he, too, caught sight of his eldest brother; and, running behind the counter, he clutched David hard.

“What, he is here?” said Jonathan Faux, coming forward.  “My mother would have no nay, as he’d been away so long, but I must see after him.  And it struck me he was very like come after you, because we’d been talking of you o’ late, and where you lived.”

David saw there was no escape; he smiled a ghastly smile.

“What! is this a relation of yours, sir?” said Mr. Palfrey to Jonathan.

“Aye, it’s my innicent of a brother, sure enough,” said honest Jonathan.  “A fine trouble and cost he is to us, in th’ eating and other things, but we must bear what’s laid on us.”

“And your name’s Freely, is it?” said Mr. Prettyman.

“Nay, nay, my name’s Faux, I know nothing o’ Freelys,” said Jonathan, curtly.  “Come,” he added, turning to David, “I must take some news to mother about Jacob.  Shall I take him with me, or will you undertake to send him back?”

“Take him, if you can make him loose his hold of me,” said David, feebly.

“Is this gentleman here in the confectionery line your brother, then, sir?” said Mr. Prettyman, feeling that it was an occasion on which format language must be used.

“I don’t want to own him,” said Jonathan, unable to resist a movement of indignation that had never been allowed to satisfy itself.  “He ran away from home with good reasons in his pocket years ago:  he didn’t want to be owned again, I reckon.”