"What's the odds if I did. It ain't of no value. Come, haven't you
anything to eat in the house? I'm hungry as a wolf."

"And you look like one!" thought Mrs. Barclay, glancing at his
unattractive features; but she did not dare to say it.

There seemed no way of refusing, and she was glad to comply with his
request, if by so doing she could soon get rid of him.

"Stay here," she said, "and I'll bring you some bread and butter and
cold meat."

"Thank you, I'd rather come in," said the tramp, and he pushed his way
through the partly open door.

She led the way uneasily into the kitchen just in the rear of the
sitting room where she had been seated.

"I wish Ben was here," she said to herself, with sinking heart.

The tramp seated himself at the kitchen table, while Mrs. Barclay,
going to the pantry, brought out part of a loaf of bread, and butter,
and a few slices of cold beef, which she set before him. Without
ceremony he attacked the viands and ate as if half famished. When
about half through, he turned to the widow, and asked:

"Haven't you some whisky in the house?"

"I never keep any," answered Mrs. Barclay.