"It's hard," said Penny.
"It is, sir. I hope they'll come back soon. The summer is the death of us all, sir; it is. Sure, I never know where my next meal is coming until I get it. That's true."
"Had anything to-day?"
"Yes, sir, a little."
"How much?"
"Well, sir, a lady gave me a cup of coffee this morning. It was good, too, I'm telling you."
Penny went to his cupboard. When he returned, he said: "Here's some cake."
Tim thrust forward his hands, palms erect. "Oh, now, Mr. Pennoyer, I couldn't. You—"
"Go ahead. What's the odds?"
"Oh, now."