"Run make some hot coffee," her employer bade her. "Or maybe you'd rather have a little liquor? I've got plenty of it in the house." She addressed the slumped intruder. "Nome, I never touch anything strong. But I reckin a cup of coffee would taste good to me--if I'm not putting you out too much? You'll please have to excuse me, ma'am, for breaking in on you this way, but I--" Remembering his manners, he got his hat off in a little flurry of confusion. "Where were you trying to get to?" With difficulty he brought his card forth from his pocket and she took it from him and read what was written upon it. "You're a good long two miles and a half from where you belong," she told him sharply. "But ain't this Bonaventure Avenue?" "Yes, North Bonaventure. You came out Lawes Drive, didn't you?--the wide street where the trolley-line is? Well, you should have gone south when you turned off. Instead of that you came north. These people"--she consulted the card again--"Philipson or whatever the name is--are they friends of yours?" "Well, yes, ma'am, and nome. I've never met them. But they're taking in one old soldier during the reunion, the hotels and the boarding-houses and all being so full up. And a gentleman at Tennessee Headquarters--that's my headquarters, ma'am--he gave me that card and sent me there." "Send you alone?" Her angular shoulders, bare above a low-cut evening gown, shrugged impatiently. "Oh, nome, one of these here little Boy Scouts he came with me to show me the way. You see, ma'am, it's rightly my own fault, my not being all settled before dark. But I didn't get in on the steam-cars till about six o'clock this evening and I didn't want to miss the opening session at the big hall. So I went right there, packing my baggage along with me, just as soon as I'd got me a snack of supper, me not wanting to miss anything, as I was saying to you, ma'am. Then when the speechmaking and all was over, me and this little Boy Scout--he'd stayed right along with me at the hall--we put out to find where I was to stay. But he couldn't hardly drag one foot behind the other. Poor little wore-out fellow, I reckin he'd been running around all day. So a few minutes ago I made him go on home, me figuring I could find the house my own self. And--well, here I am, ma'am, imposing on your kindness and mighty sorry to do it, too." "Never mind that part of it." "But just as soon as I can get a dram of hot coffee in me I expect I'll feel stronger and then I'll be shoving along and not bother you any more. I reckin that long train ride and the excitement and everything must 'a' took it out of me, some way. There was a time when it wouldn't have bothered me at all--not a bit. Still, I'll have to confess I'm getting along, ma'am. I'll be eighty-four this coming ninth of August."