The stranger on the cracker-box rose weakly and drew near.
"Excuse me," he began, in a voice of peculiar sweetness and earnestness, "I wonder if I can be of any service? I am a minister!"
Filmer reeled before this announcement, took the stranger in from head to foot, then remarked in an awed tone:
"The hell you are!"
"I am. My name's Drew, Ralph Drew."
Murphy beat a rapid retreat. The scene was too much for him. Filmer, in doubt as to whether this was a joke or not, stood his ground.
The young fellow laughed good-naturedly.
"I know what you think," he said, and coughed sharply; "I got my credentials all right. I nearly finished myself in getting them, but they're all right. Graduated last June, went under soon after, got on my feet two weeks ago, and am making for Green Lake. I got side-tracked at the Junction through my own stupidity, and landed here. Perhaps you can direct me to a quiet place for the night, and I'll be glad to help you out in any way along my line, if I can."
This lengthy explanation was interrupted by short, hacking coughs, and Filmer's eyes never dropped from the eager boyish face through it all.
Presently he leaned down and took the dress-suit case from the other's hand.