"Come, fellows, let up," cried the man who had been the first to welcome the new arrivals, and whose name was Riley. "We mustn't keep these gentlemen standing out here in the cold any longer. I reckon they're hungry, too, and wondering why we don't invite 'em to grub. So, men, just come into my shebang and make yourselves at home. There isn't much to it, but such as it is it's yours, so long as you'll honor yours truly."
"No, come with me," cried another voice. "I've got beans, Boston baked, fresh from the can." "I've got molasses and soft-tack," and "I've just made a dish of scouse." "Come with us," shouted others.
"No, you don't!" roared Mr. Riley. "They're my meat, and they are going to bunk in with me."
[to be continued.]
