“Naturally you did not confide in the lady who sent you, that you had freighted it through most States as far as the railroads go?”
“No, I did not approach her as a penitent at confessional,” he answered, “but rather as a panhandler at the side door. Confession may help to advance a man spiritually, but to a man living on the material plane, would you advise it?”
“Is it true,” I asked, “that you stammered and blushed when our friend offered you roast beef and potatoes?”
“It is my best canvass,” he replied.
We had driven some distance while this conversation was in progress, and coming to cross-roads, I was uncertain of the direction.
“Go in to that farmhouse, please,” I said to my companion, pointing to a cheerful looking home a short distance from the road, “and inquire the way?”
He alighted quickly and went around to the side door out of my sight. I waited, every moment expecting him to return with the desired information, and was growing impatient when he came out to me, his face beaming with the enthusiasm that follows a successful interview.
“This is your share,” he said, holding out a generous portion of hot apple pie to me. “The lady who lives here is a motherly soul—very proud of her cooking, and the pie did smell most tempting—I could not resist.”
“Did you use your usual ‘blush and stammer’ method to solicit this pastry?” I questioned him.