His clothing was ragged and unclean, a cord being drawn around his waist to keep his coat together, while the collar was up so high about his neck that nothing of the shirt was visible.
His hair was frowsy and uncombed, as were his huge yellow whiskers, which seemed to grow up almost to his eyes, and stuck out like the quills on a porcupine.
As the intruder looked at the boy and shuffled toward him, in his soft rubber shoes, he indulged in a broad grin, which caused his teeth to shine through his scraggly beard.
He held his hat, which resembled a dishcloth, as much as anything, in his hand, and was all suavity.
His voice sounded as though he had a bad cold, with now and then an odd squeak. As he bowed he said:
"Good evening, young man; I hope I don't intrude."
As he approached the table and helped himself to a chair, the ladies came along behind him, Miss Lizzie saying:
"This poor man, Frederick, has had nothing to eat for three days, and is trying to get home to his family. I'm sure you will be glad to have him sit at the table with you."
"Yes, I'm awful glad," replied the boy, almost choking with the fib. "I was beginning to feel kind of lonely, but I'm through and he can have the table to himself."