“I am sorry because you have no wit—­no power to understand.  Otherwise you would gladly lay these garments in my hands and bid me Godspeed.  You don’t understand at all, do you?”

“Look here, are you trying to frisk me for these duds?”

“It’s all a waste of breath to explain to you that Providence meant these things for me.  You are not acute enough to understand close reasoning.  I could not show you that, for the sake of a few coins, which would do you only that harm which would come from their value in cheap whisky or beer, you might be wrecking the future of a soul that is awake.  I simply tell you that I shall keep the clothing for myself.  Perhaps you can understand that plain statement!” The brown eyes became resolute and piercing.  “Even if I had money I would not pay you for these garments.  Money does such as you no good; it may bring you trouble.  My dear Boston Fat, I cannot afford to let you prejudice my future, which, so instinct tells me, is wrapped up in those poor things of wool and warp.”  He snapped a finger into his palm and extended his hand.  “Give me that hat and then pass on about your business.”

The tramp backed away.  His little blinking eyes expressed both fear and rebelliousness.  More than ever did he resemble a pig at bay.  The black hat, set on top of his greasy cap and topping with its respectability his disreputable general outfit, added a bizarre touch to the scene between the two men.

“You think now that you are the injured party,” calmly pursued the man of the brown eyes.  “You haven’t intelligence enough to take my own case into account.  You are injured because you are losing a few coins—­but I may be injured in all that gives life its flavor if I do not grasp this opportunity.”  Both raillery and earnestness dropped out of his tones.  He became merely matter-of-fact.  “I’ll make it plain.  Trot along about your business, fat one, or I shall proceed to pound the face off you and then kick you a few rods on your happy way.  You deserve it as a thief—­I worked two weeks as a stone-mason on your account.  Do you get me?”

For answer the infuriated vagrant rushed at him and kicked.

With one hand the stranger plucked the hat from the tramp’s head and sailed it to a place of safety.  With the other hand he grabbed the attacker’s ankle before the foot hit him and with a jerk he laid the tramp on his back.

The victim fell so helplessly that the concussion knocked the breath and a groan out of him.

The man of the brown eyes had moved languidly and had talked languidly till then.  When he grabbed the foot he moved with a sort of steel-trap efficiency and quickness.  He promptly straddled his victim, seated himself on the protruding abdomen, and began to beat the man’s face.  He battered the flabby cheeks and punched his fists into the pulpy neck.  He ground his knees against the fat flanks and redoubled his blows when the tramp struggled.  After the squalling falsetto had implored for a long time, the assailant at last gave over the exercise.