The man gave a long breath and staggered against the wall.  Felix caught him by his trembling shoulders.  “Now, brace up.  The first thing you need is something to eat.  There is a restaurant at the corner.  Come with me.”

“They won’t let me in.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

Felix entered first.  “What is there hot this time of night, barkeeper?”

“Frankfurters and beans, boss.”

“Any coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Send a double portion of each to this table,” and he pulled out a chair.  “Here’s a man who has missed his dinner.  Is that enough?” and he laid down a dollar bill—­one Kling had given him.

“Forty cents change, boss.”

“Keep it, and see he gets all he wants.  And now here,” he said to the tramp, “is another dollar to keep you going,” and with a shift of his stick to his left arm Felix turned on his heel, swung back the door, and was lost in the throng.

Kitty was up and waiting for him when he lifted the hinged wooden flap which provided an entrance for the privileged and, guided by the glow of the kerosene lamp, turned the knob of her kitchen door.  She was close to the light, reading, the coffee-pot singing away on the stove, the aroma of its contents filling the room.

“I hope I have not kept you up, Mrs. Cleary.  You had my message by Mike, did you not?” he asked in an apologetic tone.

“Yes, I got the message, and I got the trunks; they’re up-stairs, and if you had given Mike the keys I’d have ’em unpacked by this time and all ready for you.  As to my bein’ up—­I’m always up, and I got to be.  John and Mike is over to Weehawken, and Bobby’s been to the circus and just gone to bed, and I’ve been readin’ the mornin’ paper—­about the only time I get to read it.  Will ye sit down and wait till John comes in?  Hold on ’til I get ye a cup of hot coffee and—­”

“No, Mrs. Cleary.  I will go to bed, if you do not mind.”

“Oh, but the coffee will put new life into ye, and—­”

“Thanks, but it would be more likely to put it out of me if it kept me awake.  Can I reach my room this way or must I go outside?”

“Ye can go through this door—­wait, I’ll go wid ye and show ye about the light and where ye’ll find the water.  It’s dark on the stairs and ye may stumble.  I’ll go on ahead and turn up the gas in the hall,” she called back, as she mounted the steps and threw wide his room door.  “Not much of a place, is it?  But ye can get plenty of fresh air, and the bed’s not bad.  Ye can see for yourself,” and her stout fist sunk into its middle.  “And there’s your trunks and tin chest, and the hat-box is beside the wash-stand, and the waterproof coat’s in the closet.  We have breakfast at seven o’clock, and ye’ll eat down-stairs wid me and John.  And now good night to ye.”

Felix thanked her for her attention in his simple, straightforward way, and, closing the door upon her, dropped into a chair.