"How did you get in here?"

"I came in because I saw a policeman. He wouldn't understand. He
would have stopped me. I must not be stopped. I MUST not."

"Where were you going? " asked Tembarom, not knowing what else to say.

"Home! My God! man, home!" and he fell to shuddering again. He put
his arm against the boarding and dropped his head against it. The low,
hideous sobbing tore him again.

T. Tembarom could not stand it. In his newsboy days he had never been
able to stand starved dogs and homeless cats. Mrs. Bowse was taking
care of a wretched dog for him at the present moment. He had not
wanted the poor brute,--he was not particularly fond of dogs,-- but
it had followed him home, and after he had given it a bone or so, it
had licked its chops and turned up its eyes at him with such abject
appeal that he had not been able to turn it into the streets again.
He was unsentimental, but ruled by primitive emotions. Also he had a
sudden recollection of a night when as a little fellow he had gone
into a vacant lot and cried as like this as a child could. It was a
bad night when some "tough" big boys had turned him out of a warm
corner in a shed, and he had had nowhere to go, and being a friendly
little fellow, the unfriendliness had hit him hard. The boys had not
seen him crying, but he remembered it. He drew near, and put his hand
on the shaking shoulder.

"Say, don't do that," he said. "I'll help you to remember."