"'Nobody need starve in Florida,'" he quoted, gravely.
"'Nobody who is willing to work. The weather lets you sleep
outdoors.' (In which, the weather chimes harmoniously with my
pocketbook.) And, as I am extremely 'willing to work,' it
follows that I can't possibly starve. But I thank you for
feeling concerned about me. It's a long day since a woman has
bothered her head whether I live or die. Good night, again,
Miss--"

A second time, she ignored his hint that she tell him her
name. Too much worried over his light words and the real need
they seemed to cover, to heed the subtler intent, she said, a
little tremulously:

"I--I don't understand you, at all. Not that it is any
business of mine, of course. But I hate to think that any one
is in need of food or shelter. Your voice and your face and
the way you talk--they don't fit in with the rest of you.
Such men as yourself don't drift, penniless, through Lower
Florida, looking for day-laborer jobs. I can't understand--"

"Every one who speaks decent English and yet is down-and-out,"
he said, quietly, "isn't necessarily a tramp or a fugitive
from justice. And he doesn't need to be a man of mystery,
either. Suppose, let's say, a clerk in New York has been too
ill, for a long time, to work. Suppose illness has eaten all
his savings, and that he doesn't care to borrow, when he knows
he may never be able to pay. Suppose his doctor tells him he
must go South, to get braced up, and to avoid a New York