"Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree.
"What say?"
"Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well as I do."
"The dogs—I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'—"
"Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?"
"Well! of all the cantankerous—here! come in, you! she wants to see you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes were clean.
Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she asked, abruptly.
The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass fender, and stopped there.
"I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry."
"Are you a tramp?"