"Is it a hotel ye're after?" he asked.
"Well, not hardly. I ain't got any money. I only want a place to stay where I won't be in the dark an' cold alone all night."
"Do ye belong in Pittston, I don' no'?"
"No, I live in Scranton."
"Sure, the train jist wint for there. Why didn't ye go with it?"
"Well, you see, I didn't have any ticket, an' the conductor, he told me to—to—he asked me if I wouldn't jest as lieve git off here."
The man gave a low whistle.
"Come along with me," he said, "it's little I can do for yez, but it's better nor the strate." He led the way up the pavement of the side street a few steps, unlocked a door and entered a building, and Ralph followed him.
They seemed to be in a sort of retiring room for the use of the adjoining offices. A gas light was burning dimly. There was a table in the room, and there were some chairs. Some engineering tools stood in one corner, some mining tools in another; caps were hanging on the wall, and odds and ends of many kinds were scattered about.
The man took down a heavy overcoat, and spread it on the table.