Keith's hand wandered toward his pocket, but stopped at a sharp look from Krafft. After a moment's chat they withdrew.
"What a pathetic old figure! What utter misery!" cried Keith.
"No!" said Krafft positively. "There you are wrong. Old John is in no need of us. He has his house and his bed, and he gets his food. How, I do not know, but he gets it. The spark is burning clear and steady. He has not lost his grip. He gets his living with confidence. Let him alone."
"But he must be very miserable—especially when it rains," persisted
Keith.
Krafft shrugged his shoulders.
"As to that, I know not," he returned indifferently. "That does not matter to the soul. I will now show you another man."
They retraced their steps. On a corner of Montgomery Street Krafft stopped before a one-armed beggar, the stump exposed, a placard around his neck.
"Now here's another John," said Krafft. "What he wants is work, and somebody to see that he does it."
The one-armed beggar, who was fat, with a good-natured countenance, evidently considered this a joke. He grinned cheerfully.
"Don't have to, guvenor," said he.