He had been sharpening the knife as Jim talked to
the workmen outside. When Jim began to tell the story of his humiliation he
had stopped sewing at the broken harness in his vise and, getting up, had
taken the knife from its hiding-place under a pile of leather on a bench to
give its edge a few last caressing strokes.
Holding the knife in his hand Joe went with shambling steps toward the
place where Jim sat absorbed in his work. A brooding silence seemed to lie
over the shop and even outside in the street all noises suddenly ceased.
Old Joe's gait changed. As he passed behind the horse on which Jim sat,
life came into his figure and he walked with a soft, cat-like tread. Joy
shone in his eyes. As though warned of something impending, Jim turned and
opened his mouth to growl at his employer, but his words never found their
way to his lips. The old man made a peculiar half step, half leap past the
horse, and the knife whipped through the air. At one stroke he had
succeeded in practically severing Jim Gibson's head from his body.
There was no sound in the shop. Joe threw the knife into a corner and ran
quickly past the horse where the body of Jim Gibson sat upright. Then the
body fell to the floor with a thump and there was the sharp rattle of
heels on the board floor. The old man locked the front door and listened
impatiently. When all was again quiet he went to search for the knife he
had thrown away, but could not find it.
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