“I have no sweetheart, you rude men. But I am friendless in your boorish town, and this is a friend; and one who knows, what you know not, how to treat the aged and the weak.”
The crowd was dead silent. They had only been thoughtless, and now felt the rebuke, though severe, was just. The silence enabled Gerard to treat with the porter.
“I am a competitor, sir.”
“What is your name?” and the man eyed him suspiciously.
“Gerard, the son of Elias.”
The janitor inspected a slip of parchment he held in his hand:
“Gerard Eliassoen can enter.”
“With my company, these two?”
“Nay; those are not your company they came before you.”
“What matter? They are my friends, and without them I go not in.”