An old man, with a face that looked pinched, and who was dressed in a seedy black coat and a much-battered stovepipe hat, stopped at the same doorway, and, with one hand on the latch, appeared to hesitate between hunger and a sense of poverty before going in.
It was possible, however, that he was considering whether he could afford himself the indulgence of a morning paper (seeing it was Thanksgiving Day); so, at least, Bert thought, and accosted him accordingly.
"Buy a paper, sir? All about the fire in East Boston, and arrest of safe-burglars in Springfield. Only two cents!"
The little old man looked at the boy with keen gray eyes, which seemed to light up the pinched and skinny face, and answered in a shrill voice that whistled through white front teeth:
"You ought to come down in your price this time of day. You can't expect to sell a morning paper at twelve o'clock for full price."
"Well, give me a cent then," said Bert. "That's less'n cost; but never mind; I'm bound to sell out anyhow."
"You look cold," said the old man.
"Cold?" replied Bert; "I'm froze. And I want my dinner. And I'm going to have a big dinner, too, seeing it's Thanksgiving Day."
"Ah! lucky for you, my boy!" said the old man. "You've a home to go to, and friends, too, I hope?"