s mouth, the bar-tender
had disappeared through a door behind the bar, with a wicked smile on
his face.

It seemed a long time, to Ralph, before the man came back, but when
he did come, he carried in his hands a tray, on which were bowls of
oyster soup, very thin, a few crackers, and two little plates of dirty
butter. He placed them on a round table at one side of the room, and
Ralph and Joe drew up their chairs and began to eat.

The man came again, a few minutes afterward, with bread, and pork, and
cabbage, and coffee.

On the whole, it was much better than no dinner, and Ralph's hunger
prevented him from being very critical. The warm food seemed to have
the effect of making him more communicative, and he was allowing his
companion to draw out from him, little by little, as they sat and ate,
the whole story of his life since leaving Simon Craft. Rhyming Joe
appeared to be deeply interested and very sympathetic.

"Well, you did have a hard time, my dear lad," he said, "out on the
road with that circus company. I travelled with a circus company once,
myself, in the capacity of special entertainer of country people and
inspector of watches and jewelry, but it brings tears to my eyes now,
to remember how ungratefully they treated me."

"That's jes' like they did me," said Ralph; "w'en I got sick up there
at Scranton, they hadn't no furder use for me, an' they went away an'
lef' me there alone."

"That was a sad plight to be in. How did you meet that emergency?"

"I didn't meet it at all. Bachelor Billy, he met it; he foun' me, an'
cured me, an' I live with him now, an' work in the breaker."

"Ah, indeed! at work. _Laborarium est honorarium_, as the Latin poet
has it. How often have I wished that it were possible for me to earn
my bread by the sweat of my brow; but, alas!--"

"Ain't it?" interrupted Ralph.

"No, my dear boy, it isn't. I have been afflicted, from my youth up,
with a chronic disease which the best physicians of both continents
have pronounced imminently dangerous to both life and happiness, if
physical exercise be immoderately indulged in."

"What is it?" asked Ralph, innocently.

"Indolentia, my dear boy, indolentia; a terrible affliction. But how
about Grandpa Simon? Has he discovered your retreat?

"Has the bald, bad eagle of the plain
Swooped down upon his prey again?"

"Well, not hardly that," responded Ralph, "but he's foun' me."

"Indeed! And what is his state of mind concerning