And then, at her elbow, a voice said, "Oh, lady, for the
lova God!" She turned with a jerk and looked up into the
unshaven face of a great, blue-eyed giant who pulled off his
cap and stood twisting it in his swollen blue fingers.
"Lady, I'm cold. I'm hungry. I been sittin' here hours."

Fanny clutched her bag a little fearfully. She looked at
his huge frame. "Why don't you work?"

"Work!" He laughed. "There ain't any. Looka this!" He
turned up his foot, and you saw the bare sole, blackened and
horrible, and fringed, comically, by the tattered leather
upper.

"Oh--my dear!" said Fanny. And at that the man began to
cry, weakly, sickeningly, like a little boy.

"Don't do that! Don't! Here." She was emptying her purse,
and something inside her was saying, "You fool, he's only a
professional beggar."

And then the man wiped his face with his cap, and
swallowed hard, and said, "I don't want all you got. I
ain't holdin' you up. Just gimme that. I been sittin'
here, on that bench, lookin' at that sign across the street.
Over there. It says, `EAT.' It goes off an' on. Seemed
like it was drivin' me crazy."

Fanny thrust a crumpled five-dollar bill into his hand. And