“Oh, yes; Silas Tripp is rich.”
“So? He didn’t pay you much wages, though.”
“No; he feels poor. I dare say he feels poorer than I do.”
“Such men ought not to have money,” growled the tramp. “They’re keepin’ it out of the hands of honest men. What sort of a lookin’ man is this man Tripp? Is he as big as me?”
“Oh, no, he is a thin, dried-up, little man, who looks as if he hadn’t had a full meal of victuals in his life.”
“What time does he shut up shop?”
“About this time,” answered Chester, rather puzzled by the tramp’s persistence in asking questions.
“What’s your name?”
“Chester Rand.”
“Can’t you give me a quarter? I’m awful hungry. I ain’t had a bit to eat since yesterday.”