"Hey! listen to me, poor fellow! What in Heaven's name, are you doing here on that wet ground?"
It was not until the stranger by his side had repeated his question that he could pull himself together and answer in a stammering voice, while a cold shiver shook his emaciated frame.
He looked at the stranger with dilated eyes. "Beg pardon sir. I—I must have lost my way. I was to give a humorous lecture at a neighboring hotel, and—and fell down," he said helplessly, picking up his rain-soaked book, which he had discovered within reach.
"Why, you are wet through and through, my man. What can I do for you?" asked the stranger with deep sympathy.
A strange look of wonder illuminated the face of the downfallen man. He stammered: "If you would have the great kindness to help bring me to the Mountain View Hotel. You see, I am expected there. I've got to earn some money tonight yet." He paused to cough; his voice seemed sepulchral.
"I have a motherless child to support." His head was bent to hide his emotion. "My girlie must have all she needs. I—I couldn't stand it if they were to let her go hungry. God!" Again a vehement cough shook his wasted frame.
"Well, well, this turns out all right. I'll bring you there as we are staying in the same hotel."
"He's got fever, sir—better let's get him on the box," he heard the coachman say who stood by his side looking with obvious pity at the man before him.
A few paces away, a closed carriage was standing with two lighted lanterns in front of it.
The storm had relented for a while, and mysterious silence fell upon the scene.