"Yes. How did you know?"
"I've seen you. Heard you preach once. I never thought I should come to this—holding up a preacher down here!" And the man laughed a hard, short laugh.
"Then you're not——" Philip hardly knew how to say it. He wanted to say that the man was not connected in any way with the saloon element; "you're driven to this desperate course on your own account? The reason I ask is because I have been threatened by the whiskey men, and at first I supposed you were one of their men."
"No, sir," was the answer, almost in disgust. "I may be pretty bad, but
I've not got so low as that."
"Then your only motive was hunger?"
"That was all. Enough, ain't it?"
"We can't discuss the matter here," said Philip. He hesitated, rose, and stood there looking at the man who sat now with his head resting on his arms, which were folded across his knees. Two or three persons came out of a street near by and walked past. Philip knew them and said good-evening. They thought he was helping some drunken man, a thing he had often done, and they went along without stopping. Again the street was deserted.
"What will you do now? Where will you go?"
"God knows. I am an outcast on His earth!"
"Have you no home?"