"If he has no home let him go and get one," was the angry retort.
"Therefore he applied to charity," I permitted myself to say.
"This is no place for vagabonds," Cram explained, without looking at me. "He must have an address so we can send an investigator and see whether it is a worthy case."
"Well, but if he has no home?"
"Then he cannot obtain charity. This is our rule."
Again Cram fumbled in his desk, gave the man back his application and wrote on top of it: "Go upstairs."
With a stupid look on his face the man stood with the paper in hand and did not know what to do or what it all meant. Cram showed him the door. The man stood stupidly. Cram rang a bell—an office boy came. "Lead him upstairs," was the order; "he's deaf."
The office boy took the man by the hand. "Come on upstairs," and jokingly to Cram, "They have spread the table for you there."
Soon I heard his heavy steps on the stairs.