I knocked on the door, but nobody answered.  After knocking three or four times, I tried kicking, and the second kick raised, from somewheres inside, a groan that was as lonesome a sound as ever I heard.  No human noise in my experience come within a mile of it for dead, downright misery—­unless, maybe, it’s Cap’n Jonadab trying to sing in meeting Sundays.

“Who’s that?” wails Ase from ’tother side of the door.  “Did anybody knock?”

“Knock!” says I.  “I all but kicked your everlasting derelict out of water.  It’s me, Wingate—­one of the selectmen.  Tumble up, there!  I want to talk to you.”

Blueworthy didn’t exactly tumble, so’s to speak, but the door opened, and he comes shuffling and groaning into sight.  His face was twisted up and he had one hand spread-fingered on the small of his back.

“Dear, dear!” says he.  “I’m dreadful sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Wingate.  I’ve been wrastling with this turrible lumbago, and I’m ’fraid it’s affecting my hearing.  I’ll tell you—­”

“Yes—­well, you needn’t mind,” I says; “‘cordin’ to common tell, you was born with that same kind of lumbago, and it’s been getting no better fast ever since.  Jest drag your sufferings out onto this bench and come to anchor.  I’ve got considerable to say, and I’m in a hurry.”

Well, he grunted, and groaned, and scuffled along.  When he’d got planted on the bench he didn’t let up any—­kept on with the misery.

“Look here,” says I, losing patience, “when you get through with the Job business I’ll heave ahead and talk.  Don’t let me interrupt the lamentations on no account.  Finished?  All right.  Now, you listen to me.”

And then I told him just how matters stood.  His house was to be seized on the mortgage, and he was to move to the poorhouse next day.  You never see a man more surprised or worse cut up.  Him to the poorhouse?  Him—­one of the oldest families on the Cape?  You’d think he was the Grand Panjandrum.  Well, the dignity didn’t work, so he commenced on the lumbago; and that didn’t work, neither.  But do you think he give up the ship?  Not much; he commenced to explain why he hadn’t been able to earn a living and the reasons why he’d ought to have another chance.  Talk!  Well, if I hadn’t been warned he’d have landed me, all right.  I never heard a better sermon nor one with more long words in it.

I actually pitied him.  It seemed a shame that a feller who could argue like that should have to go to the poorhouse; he’d ought to run a summer hotel—­when the boarders kicked ’cause there was yeller-eyed beans in the coffee he would be the one to explain that they was lucky to get beans like that without paying extra for ’em.  Thinks I, “I’m an idiot, but I’ll make him one more offer.”

So I says:  “See here, Mr. Blueworthy, I could use another man in the stable at the Old Home House.  If you want the job you can have it.  Only, you’ll have to work, and work hard.”