“And you said that Christ would not approve of people spending money for flowers, food and dress on those who did not need it, when it could more wisely be expended for the benefit of those who were in want.”

“Yes; those were not my exact words, but that was my idea.”

“Your idea.  Just so.  And yet we have had here in this little lunch, or, as you called it, a ‘bite of something,’ three different kinds of meat, two kinds of bread, hothouse grapes, and the richest kind of milk.”

The man said all this in the quietest, calmest manner possible; and Philip stared at him, more assured than ever that he was a little crazy.  Mrs. Strong looked amused, and said, “You seemed to enjoy the lunch pretty well.”  The man had eaten with a zest that was redeemed from greediness only by a delicacy of manner that no tramp ever possessed.

“My dear madam,” said the man, “perhaps this was a case where the food was given to one who stood really in need of it.”

Philip started as if he had suddenly caught a meaning from the man’s words which he had not before heard in them.

“Do you think it was an extravagant lunch, then?” he asked with a very slight laugh.

The man looked straight at Philip, and replied slowly, “Yes, for the times in which we live!”

A sudden silence fell on the group of three in the parlor of the parsonage, lighted up by the soft glow of the coal fire.  No one except a person thoroughly familiar with the real character of Philip Strong could have told why that silence fell on him instead of a careless laugh at the crazy remark of a half-witted stranger tramp.  Just how long the silence lasted, he did not know.  Only, when it was broken he found himself saying: 

“Man, who are you?  Where are you from?  And what is your name?”

His guest turned his head a little, and replied, “When you called me in here you stretched out your hand and called me ‘Brother.’  Just now you called me by the great term, ‘Man.’  These are my names; you may call me ‘Brother Man.’”

“Well, then, ‘Brother Man,’” said Philip, smiling a little to think of the very strangeness of the whole affair, “your reason for thinking I was not sincere in my sermon this morning was because of the extravagant lunch this evening?”

“Not altogether.  There are other reasons.”  The man suddenly bowed his head between his hands, and Philip’s wife whispered to him, “Philip, what is the use of talking with a crazy man?  You are tired, and it is time to put out the lights and go to bed.  Get him out of the house now as soon as you can.”

The stranger raised his head and went on talking just as if he had not broken off abruptly.

“Other reasons.  In your sermon you tell the people they ought to live less luxuriously.  You point them to the situation in this town, where thousands of men are out of work.  You call attention to the great poverty and distress all over the world, and you say the times demand that people live far simpler, less extravagant lives.  And yet here you live yourself like a prince.  Like a prince,” he repeated, after a peculiar gesture, which seemed to include not only what was in the room but all that was in the house.