Manuel got up; before him he beheld an old man with greyish hair and gloomy mien, with a sack across his shoulder and a hook in his hand. The fellow wore a fur cap, a sort of yellowish overcoat and a reddish muffler rolled around his neck.
"Have you a home?" asked the man.
"No, sir."
"And you sleep in the open?"
"Well, as I haven't any home…."
The ragpicker began to rake over the ground, fished up some objects and various papers, shoved them into the sack and turning his gaze again upon Manuel, added:
"You'd be better off if you went to work."
"If I had work, I'd work; but I haven't, so …"—and Manuel, wearied of these useless words, huddled into his corner to continue his slumbers.
"See here," said the ragdealer, "you come along with me. I need a boy
… I'll feed you."
Manuel looked at the man without replying.