"Mine is Krafft," replied the unknown, "and I am delighted to accept your proffer."
He said nothing more until he had marshalled his charges, into a cheap eating-house, ordered and paid for a supper, and divided the remainder of the amount collected. Then he dusted his fingers daintily with a fine handkerchief, and sauntered out into the street, swinging his malacca cane.
"Incidents of that sort restore one's faith in the generosity of our people," Keith remarked, in order to say something.
"Nobody has been generous," denied Krafft categorically, "and no particular good has been accomplished. Filled their bellies for this evening; given them a place to sleep for this night; that's all."
"That's something," ventured Keith. "It helps."
"The only way to help we have not undertaken. We have done nothing toward finding out why there are such creatures—in a place like this. That's the only way to help them: find out why they are, and then remove the why."
This commonplace of modern charity was then a brand-new thought. Keith had never heard it expressed, and he was much interested.
"I suppose there are always the weak and the useless," he said vaguely.
"If those men were wholly weak and useless, how did they get out here?" countered Krafft. "To compass such a journey takes a certain energy, a certain sum of money, a certain fund of hope. The money goes, the energy drains, the hope fades. Why?"
They stopped at a corner.