“Yes, but we will not talk of trouble now. We both feel better. Here comes the waiter with the wife’s and children’s supper in the hamper; let us go to them—that is, if you have finished.”
“Oh, I have finished,” said the stranger, pointing to the empty platters, which he had cleaned.
Harcourt paid the bill for the stranger’s supper and for the contents of the hamper.
Then both arose and left the restaurant, followed by the waiter, with the hamper, who went with them to bring back the crockeryware.
The stranger led the way to a dingy tenement house with an open cellar door. The stranger dived down into this cellar, followed by his two companions.
They found themselves in a deep, murky room, with a damp flagstone floor, damp brick walls, a musty atmosphere, without furniture, without fire, and without light, except from the street gas lamp that stood directly in front of the house, and shone down into the cellar.
By its light they saw three miserable human beings—a young woman, a little boy, and a baby girl—huddled together on the damp floor, as if trying to keep each other warm.
“Come, wife, cheer up! Help has come! Here is supper for you and the children!” said the husband, taking the hamper from the waiter, who was staring in astonishment at the party he had been called upon to serve.
“You can go back now. It is but a step to your place, and come later for the dishes—or I can send them around,” said Harcourt, slipping a quarter into the waiter’s hand.
“All right, sir,” said the latter, now quite understanding, despite Harcourt’s rough suit, that “a gentleman” had chosen to relieve a starving family.