"Can you tell me of any place to spend the night?" asked Sam, encouraged by the stranger's manner.
"Yes; I'll let you stay with me, and it shan't cost you a cent."
"Thank you," said Sam, congratulating himself on his good luck in meeting so benevolent a man. He could not help admitting to himself that the philanthropist looked shabby, even seedy. He was not the sort of man from whom he would have expected such kindness, but that made no difference. The offer was evidently a desirable one, and Sam accepted it without a moment's hesitation.
"I remember when I came to the city myself," explained the stranger. "I was worse off than you, for I had no money at all. A kind man gave me a night's lodging, just as I offer one to you, and I determined that I would do the same by others when I had a chance."
"You are very kind," said Sam.
"Perhaps you won't say so when you see my room," said the other. "I am not a rich man."
Glancing at the man's attire, Sam found no difficulty in believing him. Our hero, though not very observing, was not prepossessed in favor of the New York tailors by what he saw, for the stranger's coat was very long, while his pants were very short, and his vest was considerably too large for him. Instead of a collar and cravat, he wore a ragged silk handkerchief tied round his throat. His hat was crumpled and greasy, and the best that could be said of it was, that it corresponded with the rest of his dress.
"I don't live in a very nice place," said the stranger; "but perhaps you can put up with it for one night."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Sam, hastily. "I aint used to anything very nice."
"Then it's all right," said the stranger. "Such as it is, you are welcome. Now, I suppose you are tired."