lead a
better life, with God's help.

The man without a coat said he had but himself to blame for his
condition, and, if God would help him, he was going to be a better man.

I saw to it that the man had a lodging and something to eat, when out
from the audience stepped a fine-looking man with a coat in his hand and
told the man to put it on. I looked at the man in astonishment. He was
about five-feet-ten, of fine appearance, a little in need of a shave and
a little water, but the man sticking out of him all over.

It is not the clothes that make the man, for here was a man who hadn't
anything in the way of clothes, but you could tell by looking at him
that he was a gentleman. I just stood and looked at him as he helped the
other fellow on with the coat. I thought it one of the grandest acts I
ever saw. He was following Christ's command about the man having two
coats giving his brother one. I saw the man had on an overcoat, but,
even so, it was a grand act, and I told him so.

I did not see him again for some time, when one night, about a week
after the coat affair, I saw him sitting among the men at the Doyer
Street Midnight Mission, of which I had charge. I went over where he was
sitting and while shaking hands with him said, "Say, that was the
grandest act you ever did when you gave that man your coat. What did you
do it for? You don't seem to have any too much of this world's goods.
How did it happen? Are you a Christian? Who are you?" He looked at me a
moment and said, "Mr. Ranney, if I can go into your office I'll tell you
all about it."

We went into the office, and he said, "How did you find me out?" Well,
the question was a queer one to me. How did I find him out? I didn't
know what he meant, but I didn't tell him so; I just smiled.

Well, he said he was a French Count (which was true), over here writing
a book about the charitable institutions in the United States. He had
been in Chicago, San Francisco, and in fact, all over the States, for
points for his book. He told me what he had and hadn't done. He had
worked in wood-yards for charity organizations; had given himself up and
gone to the Island; stood in bread-lines; in fact, he had done
everything the tramp does when he is "down and out."

I took quite a fancy to him. He took me up to his room in Eighteenth
Street, showed me his credentials, and we became quite chummy. We used
to do the slums act, and I would put on an old suit of clothes so I
woul