"Why, don't you like it, you dog?" retorted Mr. Fewster, with a spice of his native humor.
"No, I don't; it smells of worms."
With a pleasant laugh Mr. Fewster led the way into his sitting-room, and set light to the fire and lit a second candle.
"This is better," said the Lascar, huddling before the fire. "Ah, this is good, this warmth; it is life! Have you ever slept out in the cold, master?"
"No, you dog," answered Mr. Fewster.
He had recovered his self-possession and much of his usual equanimity.
"I have; in the cold and wet, for two or three nights together."
"There was the Union," suggested Mr. Fewster.
"I have been there often enough. Sometimes I was too late; sometimes there were too many of us; sometimes I didn't care even for that shelter."
"Would you like to sleep in my shop? I think I could trust you there."