“Come in and sit down a minute,” she said gently.
The man staggered across the threshold and dropped into the chair she offered him. The screen door shut with a slam.
He shivered as if a draft of icy air had struck him.
“Close the inside door—quick,” he panted; and Delia, under the spell of her sympathy, obeyed without thought.
“It’s too bad to trouble you,” he said nervously, “but I’m not a well man.”
Delia handed him a glass of water. He sipped at it between gasps.
“Don’t light the gas,” he cried sharply.
Delia had scratched a match, for night was falling rapidly. She snapped out the little flame and looked at him half afraid.
“Just let me rest a moment,” he said. “There’s no harm in me. I couldn’t hurt a baby if I wanted to.”
He almost whimpered as he looked curiously around the room.