The man went, shuffling along with a degree of speed, lifting his clumsily shod feet with a sort of painful alacrity as if they were unduly heavy. His back, in its greenish-brown coat, was bent. He was not a very young man, although vigorous. Carroll stood looking at the inglorious exit of this Ishmael, and he was conscious of a feeling of exhilaration. He felt an agreeable tingling in his fists, which were still clinched. The using of them upon a legitimate antagonist in whose debt he was not, and never had been, acted like a tonic. Then suddenly something pathetic in that miserable retreating back struck the other man, who also had reason to turn his back on and retreat from his kind; a strange understanding came over him. He seemed to know exactly how that other man, slinking away from his door, felt. "Hullo, you!" he called out. The man apparently did not hear, or did not think the shout meant for him. He kept on. Carroll shouted again. "Hullo, you! Come back here!" Then the man turned, and his half-scared, half-defiant face fronted Carroll. He growled an inarticulate inquiry. "Come back here!" repeated Carroll. The tramp came slowly, suspiciously, one hand slyly lifted as one sees a wary animal with a paw ready for possible attack. "Wait here," said Carroll, indicating the stoop with a gesture, "and I will see if I can find something for you to eat." The man reached the door and paused, and remained standing, still with that wary lift of hand and foot in readiness for defence or flight, while Carroll rummaged in the pantry, which was a lean larder. At last he emerged with half a pie and a piece of cake. He extended them to the tramp, who viewed them critically and mumbled something about meat. "Take these and clear out, or leave them and clear out!" shouted Carroll, and again the sense of exhilaration was over him. The man took the proffered food and slunk rapidly out of the yard.