The figure mumbled and swayed.
"I don't think he's drunk," ventured Charley. "He doesn't act like it, does he?"
"I dunno," grunted the long-nosed man, as if irritated. He reached in and, as Charley had done, but more rudely, grasped the figure by the shoulder; shook him and attempted to drag him forward; raised him a few inches and let him drop back again.
"We can't do anything. He looks like a beggar, anyhow. I'll see if I can find a watchman, on my way down town, and send him up."
That sounded inhuman, and Charley, for one, could not think of letting the figure huddle there, in the cold and the night, until the watchman should arrive. He did not like the long-nosed man.
"If you'll help, I'll take him home," volunteered Charley. "'Tisn't far."
"How far?" demanded the long-nosed man.
"Just a block and a half."
"What'll you do with him there?"
"Get him warm. My mother and father'll tend to him. They won't mind."