The printer turned to his work again with a lighter heart for this bit
of brightness. Somehow he felt that things would come out all right
some day, and he would do the best he could to be patient; and, for
Clara's sake, while he could not be all she wished, he would make of
himself all that he could.

For a while, he was very busy with some work in the rear of the office;
then remembering Clara's strange words about the tramp, he went over
to the case where the new man sat perched upon his high stool. The
stranger was working rapidly and doing good work. George noticed though,
that the hand which held the stick trembled; and that sometimes a
letter dropped from the nervous fingers. "What's the matter?" he asked,
eyeing him keenly.

The man, without lifting his head, muttered, "Nothing."

"Are you sick?"

A shake of the head was the only answer.

"Been drinking?"

"_No_." This time the head was lifted and two keen gray eyes, filled
with mingled suffering and anger, looked full in the boss's face. "I've
been without work for some time and am hungry, that's all." The head
bent again over the case and the trembling fingers reached for the
type.

"Hungry!--Good God, man!" exclaimed Udell. "Why didn't you say so?"--and
turning quickly to the boy he said, "Here, skip down to that restaurant