“You’re all alone, eh? I’m glad you weren’t afraid to let me in. Some women would have left me standing out there.”
“What would I be afraid of?” she asked simply, feeling uneasy nevertheless.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he answered irritably. “Only most people seem to be afraid of a sick man. They don’t want him around. They won’t give him a chance.”
“That can’t be so,” said Delia. “Every one naturally feels sorry for a sick person.”
“No, they don’t,” he contradicted roughly. “Do you know what would happen if I fainted in the street? Do you think any one would help me? Not much. I could lie there like a dog while the crowd went by. The men would laugh; the women would say, ‘Disgusting.’ I know. It has happened to me.”
He coughed slightly and finished the glass of water.
A faint sound outdoors caught his ear. He stepped quickly to the window and peered out. Starved and unkempt he looked, but a quaint neatness about his clothing hinted at the regular habits of a workingman.
He turned to Delia suddenly.
“I’ve got to tell you,” he whispered swiftly. “They’re coming up here. You’ve got some sympathy for a man and you ain’t afraid.”
She looked at him and began to understand.