“Thank you, ma’am, I ain’t over-partial to tea, and my doctor tells me I need whisky. You don’t happen to have any whisky in the house, do you?”
“This is a temperance house,” said Chester, “we never keep whisky.”
“Well, maybe I can get along with the tea,” sighed the tramp, in evident disappointment.
“You look strong and healthy,” observed Mrs. Rand.
“I ain’t, ma’am. Looks is very deceiving. I’ve got a weakness here,” and he touched the pit of his stomach, “that calls for strengthenin’ drink. But I’ll be glad of the victuals.”
When the table was spread with an extemporized supper, the unsavory visitor sat down, and did full justice to it. He even drank the tea, though he made up a face and called it “slops.”
“Where did you come from, sir?” asked Mrs. Rand.
“From Chicago, ma’am.”
“Were you at work there? What is your business?”
“I’m a blacksmith, ma’am.”