"Here, come a little further. Now do you see that man there?"
Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk—the figure of a man on the back stoop—a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who sat upon a low chair—no, not a chair—an empty box. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp. He was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe. Why does the master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful home? I thought.
"Well, shall we go now?" said the Major.
I turned silently and we retraced our steps. I think neither of us spoke for the distance of a square.
"Guess you didn't know the man there on the back porch?" said the Major.
"No; why?" I asked dubiously.
"I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow's tired, and it was best not to disturb him," said the Major.
"Why; who was it—some one I know?"
"It was Tommy."
"Oh," said I, inquiringly, "he's employed there in some capacity?"