him—from his ragged, matted hair to the fringe on the bottom of his trousers. He
held a broken cork helmet, that had not seen pipe-clay for many a month, in his
grimy hands, and scraped one foot and ducked his dripping head, as I turned
toward him with a gruff,—
“Well?”
“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, in a harsh, rasping voice, “but I heard that the
American Consul was here. I am an American.”
He looked up with a watery leer in his eyes.
“Go on,” I said, without offering to take the hand of my fellow-countryman.
He let his arm fall to his side.
“I ain’t got any passport; that went with the rest, and I never had the heart to ask
for another.”
He gave a bad imitation of a sob.
“Never mind the side play,” I commented, as he began to rumble in the
bottomless pocket of his coat. “I will supply all that as you go along. What is it
you want?”
He withdrew his hand and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
“Come in out of the rain and you won’t need to do that,” I said, amused at this
show of feeling.
“I thought as how you might give a countryman a lift,” he whined.
I smiled and stepped to the door.
“Boy, bring the gentleman a whiskey and soda.”
The “boy” brought the liquor, while I commenced to unstrap and dry my
Winchester.
My fellow-countryman did not move, but stood nervously tottering from one leg