"Mrs. Trapes," he sighed, "I am a lonely wight, a wanderer in wild
places, a waif, a stray, puffed hither and thither by a fate perverse--"

"Talking o' verses, you ain't a poet, are you?" enquired Mrs. Trapes,
"last poet as lodged wi' me useter go to bed in 'is boots reg'lar!
Consequently I ain't nowise drawed to poets--"

Mr. Ravenslee laughed and shook his head.

"Have no fear," he answered, "I'm no poet nor ever shall be. I'm quite
an ordinary human being, I assure you."

"Young feller--references?"

"Mrs. Trapes, I have none--except my face. But you have very sharp eyes;
look at me well. Do I strike you as a rogue or a thief?"

Here Spike, chancing to catch his eye, blushed painfully, while Mr.
Ravenslee continued:

"Come, Mrs. Trapes, you have a motherly heart, I know, and I am a very
lonely being who needs one like you to--to cook and care for his bodily
needs and to look after the good of his solitary soul. Were I to search
New York I couldn't find another motherly heart so suited to my crying
needs as yours; you won't turn me away, will you?" Saying which, Mr.
Ravenslee smiled his slow, sleepy smile and--wonder of wonders--Mrs.
Trapes smiled too!

"When d' ye wanter come?"