Felix had listened without moving, trying to make up his mind, noting the drawn, haggard face, the staring eyes and dry, fevered lips—­all evidences of either hunger or vice, he was uncertain which.

Then gradually, as the man’s sobs continued, there stole over him that strange sense of kinship in pain which comes to us at times when confronted with another’s agony.  The differences between them—­the rags of the one and the well-brushed garments of the other, the fact that one skulked with his misery in dark alleys while the other bore his on the open highways—­ counted as nothing.  He and this outcast were bound together by the common need of those who find the struggle overwhelming.  Until that moment his own sufferings had absorbed him.  Now the throb of the world’s pain came to him and sympathies long dormant began to stir.

“Straighten up and let me see your face,” he said at last, intent on the tramp’s abject misery.  “Out here where the full light can fall on it—­that’s right!  Now tell me about yourself.  How long have you been like this?”

The man dragged himself to his feet.

“Ever since I lost my job.”  The question had calmed him.  There was a note of hope in it.

“What work did you do?”

“I’m a plumber’s helper.”

“Work stopped?”

“No, a strike—­I wouldn’t quit, and they fired me.”

“What happened then?”

“She went away.”

“Who went away?”

“My wife.”

“When?”

“About a month back.”

“Did you beat her?”

“No, there was another man.”

“Younger than you?”

“Yes.”

“How old was she?”

“Eighteen.”

“A girl, then.”

“Yes, if you put it that way.  She was all I had.”

“Have you seen her since?”

“No, and I don’t want to.”

These questions and answers had followed in rapid succession, Felix searching for the truth and the man trying to give it as best he could.

With the last answer the man drew a step nearer and, in a voice which was fast getting beyond his control, said:  “You know now, don’t you?  You can see it plain as day how long it takes to make a bum of a man when he’s up agin things like that.  You—­” He paused, listened intently, and sprang back, hugging the wall.  “What’s that?  Somebody comin’!  My God!  It’s a cop!  Don’t tell him—­say you won’t tell him—­ say it!  Say it!”

Felix gripped his wrist.  “Pull yourself together and keep still.”

The officer, who was idly swinging a club as if for companionship along his lonely beat, stopped short.  “Any trouble, sir?” he said as soon as he had Felix’s outline and bearing clear.

“No, thank you, officer.  Only a friend of mine who needs a little looking after.  I’ll take care of him.”

“All right, sir,” and he passed on down the narrow street.