Couldn't you kind of ring me in for something? I ain't afraid
of work, although I never did pretend to love it. But I should like
to reform now, and get into something steady. Heigh?"
"There isn't anything to do--there's no place for you," Lemuel
began.
"Oh, pshaw, now, mate, you think!" pleaded the other. "I'll take any
sort of a job; I don't care what it is. I ain't got any o' that
false modesty about me. Been round too much. And I don't want to go
back to the Wayfarer's Lodge. It's a good place, and I know my
welcome's warm and waitin' for me, between two hot plates; but the
thing of it is, it's demoralisin'. That's what the chaplain said
just afore I left the--ship, 'n' I promised him I'd give work a try,
anyway. Now you just think up something! I ain't in any hurry." In
proof he threw his soft hat on the desk, and took up one of the
_menus_. "This your bill of fare? Well, it ain't bad! Vurmiselly soup,
boiled holibut, roast beef, roast turkey with cranberry sauce, roast
pork with apple sauce, chicken corquettes, ditto patties, three kinds
of pie; bread puddin', both kinds of sauce; ice cream, nuts, and
coffee. Why, mate!"
Lemuel sat dumb and motionless. He could see no way out of the net
that had entangled him. He began feebly to repeat. "There isn't
anything," when some one tried the door.
"Mr. Barker!" called Mrs.
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