"My poor orphan boy!" He
caused me to recount the incident in every detail. In doing so I
made it as appallingly vivid as I knew how. He was so absorbed
and moved that he repeatedly made me stop in the middle of the
sidewalk so as to look me in the face as he listened
"Oh, but you must be hungry," he suddenly interrupted me. "Come
on." Arrived at the restaurant, he ordered supper for me. Then he
withdrew, commending me to the care of the proprietress until he
should return.
He had no sooner shut the door behind him than she took to
questioning me: Was I a relative of Mr. Even? If not, then why
was he taking so much interest in me? She was a vivacious,
well-fed young matron with cheeks of a flaming red and with the
consciousness of business success all but spurting from her black
eyes. From what she, assisted by one of the other customers
present, told me about my benefactor I learned that his son-in-law
was the owner of the tenement-house in which the restaurant was
located, as well as of several other buildings.
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