"No," he said, but nothing in him supported the lie he had uttered.
"Wayfarer's Lodge?" suggested the other cheerfully. "Don't you
remember?"
"No----"
"I guess you do," said the mate easily. "Anyway, I remember you."
Lemuel's feeble defence gave way. "Come in here," he said, and he
shut the door upon the intruder and himself, and submitted to his
fate. "What is it?" he asked huskily.
"Why, mate! what's the matter? Nobody's goin' to hurt you," said the
other encouragingly. "What's your lay here?"
"Lay?"
"Yes. Got a job here?"
"I'm the clerk," said Lemuel, with the ghost of his former pride of
office.
"Clerk?" said the tramp with good-humoured incredulity. "Where's
your diamond pin? Where's your rings?" He seemed willing to prolong
the playful inquiry. "Where's your patent leather boots?"
"It's not a common hotel. It's a sort of a family hotel, and I'm the
clerk. What do you want?"
The young fellow lounged back easily in his chair. "Why, I did drop
in to beat the house out of a quarter if I could, or may be ten
cents. Thank you, sir. God bless you, sir." He interrupted himself
to burlesque a professional gratitude. "That style of thing, you
know. But I don't know about it now. Look here, mate! what's the
reason you couldn't get me a job here too? I been off on a six
months' cruise since I saw you, and I'd like a job on shore first
rate.
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