He was damning the times and the hard hearts of men. As we
walked along the hall towards my room, the door of the room next to
mine opened and the big man, who signed himself Newman, looked out at
us. I had not known before that he occupied this room, he was so
silent and secretive in his comings and goings.

I hailed Newman heartily, but he gave me no response, not even a direct
glance. He was regarding the derelict; aye, and there was something in
his face as he looked at the man that sent a thrill through me. There
was recognition in his look, and something else. It made me shiver.
As for this fellow with me--he stopped short at first sight of Newman.
He said, "Oh, my God!" and then he seemed to choke. He stumbled
against the banisters, and clung to them for support while his knees
sagged under him. He'd have run, undoubtedly, if he had had the
strength.

"Hello, Beasley," said Newman, in a very quiet voice. He came out of
his room, and approached us. Then this man of mine threw a fit indeed.
I never saw such fright in a man's face. He opened his mouth as If to
scream, but nothing came out except a gurgle; and he lifted his arm as
if to ward off an expected blow.

But Newman made no move to strike him. He looked down at him, studying
him, with his stern mouth cracked into a little smile (but, God's
truth, there was no mirth in it) and after a moment he said,
"Surprised? Eh? But no more surprised than I."

The poor wreck got some sound out of his mouth that sounded like
"How--how--" several times repeated.

"And I wanted to meet you more than I can tell," went on Newman. "I
want to talk to you--about----"

The other got his tongue to working in a half-coherent fashion, though
the disjointed words he forced out of his mouth were just husky
whispers. "Oh, my God--you! Not me--oh, my God, not me!--him--he made
me--it was----"

No more sense than that to his agonized mumbling. And he got no more
than that out of him when he choked, and an ugly splotch of crimson
appeared upon his pale lips. His knees gave way altogether, and he
crouched there on the floor, gibbering silently at the big man, and
plainly terrified clean out of his wits.

Well, I felt out of it, so to speak. The feeling made me a little
resentful. After all, this bum was my bum.

"Look here, the man's sick," I said to Newman. "Don't look at him like
that--he'll die. You've half scared him to death already."

"Oh, no; he'll