“What’s the matter?” he inquired. “Been drinking?”
“No, no,” said the beggar.
“Why haven’t you?” persisted Moisse frowning; “don’t you know there’s nothing for you but drink. That’s what drink is for. Men like you.”
The faded eyes livened.
“Now you go and get yourself three good shots of booze,” went on Moisse, “and you’ll be a new man for the rest of the day.”
The beggar had become excited.
His lips moved in a nervous delight but he uttered no sound. With the fingers of his right hand he picked at the blackened and roughly-bitten nails of his other. He cleared his throat and then as if suddenly inspired, removed his drenched hat and raised his eyebrows.
Touched by the sincerity of the little old man’s emotions the young dramatist reached into his pocket and brought forth another ten cent piece.
“Here,” he said, “buy two more drinks.”
The little man seemed about to break into a dance. His face became tinged with the pink of an old woman’s cheek.