Poor Dick, weak from hunger, chilled with the March winds, tired and
discouraged, he forgot his resolve of the day before and followed his
would-be benefactor. It was not far and they soon stood in a well-warmed
saloon. The grateful heat, the polished furniture, the rows of bottles
and glasses, the clean-looking, white-jacketed and aproned bar-tender,
and the merry air of those whom he served, were all wonderfully
attractive to the poor shivering wanderer from out in the cold. And
then there was the long table well loaded with strong, hot food. The
starving fellow started toward it eagerly, with outstretched hand.
"Two beers here," cried his companion.

Then Dick remembered his purpose. The hand reaching out to grasp the
food was withdrawn; his pale face grew more haggard. "My God!" he
thought, "what can I do. I must have food."

He saw the bartender take two large glasses from the shelf. His whole
physical being plead with him, demanding food and drink, and shaking
like a leaf he gazed about him with the air of a hunted thing.

He saw one of the glasses in the hand of the man in the white jacket
and apron filling with the amber liquid. A moment more and--"Stop!"
he cried, rushing toward the one who held the glasses. "Stop! it's a
mistake. I don't drink."

The man paused and looked around with an evil leer, one glass still
unfilled in his hand. Then with a brutal oath, "What are ye in here
for then?"

Dick trembled. "I--I--was cold and hungry--" his eyes sought the food