I'm going out West
to-morrow."
An old table, two worn chairs and an over-turned box furnished the
small room; through an open door Caroline spied a tumbled bed. A
kitchen, dismantled and dreary, faced her.
"The agent gave me five dollars for all I left," the woman said, "I
don't know which of us got the best o' the bargain. Now, about you.
Where do you live? I s'pose they're looking for you right now while
we're talking. Do you know where you left the automobile?"
"Oh, yes." Caroline stared frankly about her. "Wasn't there a man in
here? Where did he go?"
The woman grunted out a sort of laugh. "If you're not the limit!"
she murmured. She stepped to the door of the kitchen, looked in, and
beckoned to Caroline.
"I suppose you heard him carrying on," she said, "he's in there.
Poor fellow, he's all worn out."
Caroline peered into the kitchen. With his rough, unshaven face
resting on his arms, his hair all tossed about, his face drawn in
misery, even in his heavy sleep, a young man sat before a table,
half lying on it, one hand on a soiled plate still grasping a piece
of bread.
"Is he sick?" whispered Caroline.
"N--no, I wouldn't say sick, exactly, but I guess he'd be almost as
well off if he was," said the woman.
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