"I was, decidedly. I'm not now." She looked him over. "You have spent only fifteen cents. What is the matter?" He was surprised. He looked into her eyes and was perplexed. Why should this woman ask him this question? But he could see nothing in those eyes save a gray inquisition. "I had only that much to spend to-night, that's all. Do you see anything absurd about it?" The woman was puzzled in turn. She looked into the man's face in a fearless way enough, but did not know what to say. Then again came that odd way of looking over him. Finally she broke out: "You haven't any more money, and yet you put on airs. I like it." "I am much obliged," said he. "That isn't fair. You know what I mean. And you know already--you're not a fool--what this place is. It is mine. The little restaurant in front is but a part. Women come here--and men. Two women live here. Did you think that?" Harlson said he had inferred, since he came in, that the restaurant was not a restaurant alone. "It's a funny world," he said. She was bothered. "I don't know what you mean about the world, and I don't care. But I would like to know what your business is, and how you are doing?" "I am not doing well, and get hungry sometimes. Had it not been for that I should not have come here to-night. But what is it to you?" "Can't you see? Why am I talking to you?" "I don't know." She looked at him steadily again. "What do you want?" was his inquiry. "Where do you live?" "I have no bed. I am in a lawyer's office. I can't afford a boarding-house just now, and I sleep on the office floor." "How do you like that?" she asked. "I don't like it." "Then why do you stay there?" "Where else would I sleep? I have only so much a week." "Would you like to stay here to-night?" "Maybe. This is better than the office floor; at least I imagine it is." The curtains parted and there was a heavy step upon the floor. A man came in. He stopped and looked at the couple grimly. He was a big man whose cheeks had jowls and whose eyes were red. He had the air of a bully. He seemed perfectly at ease and conscious of his status, and the woman started, then looked up half anxiously and half defiantly. The man spoke first: "What are you doing here?" "I am talking with this gentleman at the table." "You mustn't talk with these fellows. Get out of here!" he said, turning to Harlson. Harlson was not really in a pleasant frame of mind; he had been too hungry. It was not the occasion on which a flabby bully should have thus addressed him. He did not answer the man, but turned to the woman. "Is that your husband?" he asked. "No." "What is he, then?" It was the intruder who answered, violently: "She belongs to me, and you'd better get out of here." "I don't belong to him! He has lived here, but I want to get away from him! Now," turning recklessly to the man, "you may do what you please!"