"Is that your kind of money?" he asked. "What do I do in exchange for it?"
"Oh, let's drop it," she sighed wearily. "My lunch-hour's up, anyway. Take it—it'll buy you a hamburger and coffee, and then you can tell your tale to the next comer and maybe get enough for a bed in a flophouse. Brother, you must have told it plenty, to get it all down so pat. It's a wonder I've missed you before—or are you just starting to work this neighborhood?"
She snapped her bag shut and stood up.
"Please—I don't understand—why are you so angry?"
At the desperation in his voice she turned and stopped.
"Look—I really have to get back to the office. This is an act, isn't it? Come clean—aren't you panhandling?"
"What does 'panhandling' mean?"
"Oh, I give up! I guess you're just looney, after all. All right, Mike, let's call it a day. You keep that buck, and now you just go to the nearest police station and tell them your story. They'll take you over to the psychiatric ward of the county hospital and you can get free board and lodging there."
Mikel turned pale and shivered.
"Oh, no," he breathed. "I'm not insane. If you don't believe me, no one else will. And the hospital will euthanize me."