It would have been a speech both stupid and pert in the mouth of another; but Donnegan knew how to flavor words with a touch of mockery of himself as well as another.  There were two manners in which this speech could have been received—­with a wink or with a smile.  But it would have been impossible to hear it and grow frigid.  As for the colonel, he smiled.

It was a tricky smile, however, as Donnegan felt.  It spread easily upon that vast face and again went out and left all to the dominion of the cold, bright eyes.

“A case of curiosity,” commented the colonel.

“A case of hunger,” said Donnegan.

“My dear Mr. Donnegan, put it that way if you wish!”

“And a case of blankets needed for one night.”

“Really?  Have you ventured into such a country as this without any equipment?”

“Outside of my purse, my equipment is of the invisible kind.”

“Wits,” suggested the colonel.

“Thank you.”

“Not at all.  You hinted at it yourself.”

“However, a hint is harder to take than to make.”

The colonel raised his faultless right hand—­and oddly enough his great corpulence did not extend in the slightest degree to his hand, but stopped short at the wrists—­and stroked his immense chin.  His skin was like Lou Macon’s, except that in place of the white-flower bloom his was a parchment, dead pallor.  He lowered his hand with the same slow precision and folded it with the other, all the time probing Donnegan with his difficult eyes.

“Unfortunately—­most unfortunately, it is impossible for me to accommodate you, Mr. Donnegan.”

The reply was not flippant, but quick.  “Not at all.  I am the easiest person in the world to accommodate.”

The big man smiled sadly.

“My fortune has fallen upon evil days, sir.  It is no longer what it was.  There are in this house three habitable rooms; this one; my daughter’s apartment; the kitchen where old Haggie sleeps.  Otherwise you are in a rat trap of a place.”

He shook his head, a slow, decisive motion.

“A spare blanket,” said Donnegan, “will be enough.”

There was another sigh and another shake of the head.

“Even a corner of a rug to roll up in will do perfectly.”

“You see, it is impossible for me to entertain you.”

“Bare boards will do well enough for me, Colonel Macon.  And if I have a piece of bread, a plate of cold beans—­anything—­I can entertain myself.”

“I am sorry to see you so compliant, Mr. Donnegan, because that makes my refusal seem the more unkind.  But I cannot have you sleeping on the bare floor.  Not on such a night.  Pneumonia comes on one like a cat in the dark in such weather.  It is really impossible to keep you here, sir.”

“H’m-m,” said Donnegan.  He began to feel that he was stumped, and it was a most unusual feeling for him.