"Umph! Fetch him in."
The foreman disappeared, and returned with the tramp already known to the reader. He was a little dirtier and grimier than on the morning he had addressed Maruja at La Mision Perdida; but he wore the same air of sullen indifference, occasionally broken by furtive observation. His laziness—or weariness—if the term could describe the lassitude of perfect physical condition, seemed to have increased; and he leaned against the door as the Doctor regarded him with slow contempt. The silence continuing, he deliberately allowed himself to slip down into a sitting position in the doorway, where he remained.
"You seem to have been born tired," said the Doctor, grimly.
"Yes."
"What have you got to say for yourself?"
"I told HIM," said the tramp, nodding his head towards the foreman, "what I'd do for a supper and a bed. I don't want anything but that."
"And if you don't get what you want on your own conditions, what'll you do?" asked the Doctor, dryly.
"Go."
"Where did you come from?"
"States."