“Why, what's the matter?” asked the boy perplexed.
“Get out, you loafer!” cried the other.
And Samuel turned and went quickly. A loafer!
So for the first time it occurred to him to look at his clothes, which were muddy from his tumble in the ditch. And no doubt his face and hands were dirty also, and his hair unkempt, and his aspect unprepossessing enough for an applicant for labor. At any rate it was clear that this was not the part of the town to seek it in; so he went back across the bridge.
Twilight had fallen and the stores were shutting up. Soon everything would be closed; and that night he felt that he would perish. And so at last desperation seized him.
He bolted into the first lighted place he saw.
It was a saloon—empty, save for a man in white behind the bar.
“I'm no beggar!” shouted Samuel.
“Hey?” said the man.
“I say I'm no beggar! I'll come back and pay you. I'm starving. I must have something to eat.”