“I guess you do,” said the mate easily. “Anyway, I remember you.”
Lemuel's feeble defence gave way. “Come in here,” he said, and he shut the door upon the intruder and himself, and submitted to his fate. “What is it?” he asked huskily.
“Why, mate! what's the matter? Nobody's goin' to hurt you,” said the other encouragingly. “What's your lay here?”
“Lay?”
“Yes. Got a job here?”
“I'm the clerk,” said Lemuel, with the ghost of his former pride of office.
“Clerk?” said the tramp with good-humoured incredulity. “Where's your diamond pin? Where's your rings?” He seemed willing to prolong the playful inquiry. “Where's your patent leather boots?”
“It's not a common hotel. It's a sort of a family hotel, and I'm the clerk. What do you want?”
The young fellow lounged back easily in his chair. “Why, I did drop in to beat the house out of a quarter if I could, or may be ten cents. Thank you, sir. God bless you, sir.” He interrupted himself to burlesque a professional gratitude. “That style of thing, you know. But I don't know about it now. Look here, mate! what's the reason you couldn't get me a job here too? I been off on a six months' cruise since I saw you, and I'd like a job on shore first rate. Couldn't you kind of ring me in for something? I ain't afraid of work, although I never did pretend to love it. But I should like to reform now, and get into something steady. Heigh?”
“There isn't anything to do—there's no place for you,” Lemuel began.