“Well, I don’t care who he is,” said Mrs. Archibald, “or what your rules are, but when a perfectly good-mannered man comes to us and asks simply to be allowed to rest, I don’t want him to be driven away as if he were a stray pig on a lawn. Mr. Archibald, shouldn’t he be allowed to rest a while?”
Her husband rose and approached the stranger. “Where are you going, sir?” said he.
The man looked at Matlack, at Martin, who stood behind him, and then at the rest of the company, and after this comprehensive glance he smiled.
“From present appearances,” he said, “I think I am going to go.”
Mr. Archibald laughed. “When do you expect to get there?” he asked.
“It seems to me,” said the other, reflectively, “that I am always going there, and I suppose I shall have to keep on doing it.”
“Look here,” said Mr. Archibald, turning to Matlack, “give him some supper, and let him rest. There will be time enough for him to get to Sadler’s after that. If Sadler has anything to say against it, refer him to me.”
“All right, sir,” said Matlack, “if you say so. I’m no harder on my fellow-bein’s than other people, but rules is rules, and it isn’t for me to break them.”
“My dear sir,” said the stranger to Mr. Archibald, “your words are more grateful to me than the promise of food. I see that you consider me a tramp, but it is a mistake. I am not a tramp. If you will allow me, after I have eaten a little supper—a meal which I must admit I greatly need—I will explain to you how I happen to be here.” And with a bow he walked towards the table where Matlack and Martin had been eating their supper.
“Do you know what I think he is?” said Mr. Clyde, when Mr. Archibald had resumed his seat and his pipe. “I believe he is a wandering actor. Actors always have smoothly shaven faces, and he looks like one.”