"Now tell me, Mr. Koerner," he said, "are you in want--do you need anything?"
Koerner did not reply at once.
"Come on now," Marriott urged, "tell me--have you anything to eat in the house?"
"Vell," Koerner admitted, "not much."
"Have you anything at all to eat?"
Koerner hung his head then, in the strange, unaccountable shame people feel in poverty.
"Vell, I--undt der oldt voman--ve hafn't had anyt'ing to eat to-day."
"And the children?"
"Ve gif dem der last dis morning alreadty."
Marriott closed his eyes in the pain of it. He reproached himself that he who argued so glibly that people in general lack the cultured imagination that would enable them to realize the plight of the submerged poor, should have had this condition so long under his very eyes and not have seen it. He was humbled, and then he was angry with himself--an anger he was instantly able to change into an anger with Koerner.