"Since June, 1914."
That seemed to strike him as a very suspicious date, and he stared at me hard for a moment before he went on: "What for?"
"Principally because I leased the house."
"Why do you remain here in war-time?"
"Because I have nowhere else to go," and I tried not to smile.
"Why don't you go home?"
"This is my home."
"Haven't you any home in America?"
I resisted telling him that it was none of his business, and did my best to look pathetic—it was that, or laugh—as I answered: "Alas! I have not."
This seemed to strike both of them as unbelievable, and they only stared at me as if trying to put me out of countenance.