I found him standing just
inside of the front door. He was a small man, with long hair and
beard, and dressed in a suit of clothes of a remarkable color,--
something of the hue of faded snuff. He had a big stick, and
carried a large flat valise in one hand.
He bowed to me very politely.
"Can I stop here to-night?" he asked, taking off his hat, as my
wife put her head out of the kitchen-door.
"Why,--no, sir," I said. "This is not a tavern."
"Not a tavern!" he exclaimed. "I don't understand that. You have
a sign out."
"That is true," I said; "but that is only for fun, so to speak. We
are here temporarily, and we put up that sign just to please
ourselves."
"That is pretty poor fun for me," said the man. "I am very tired,
and more hungry than tired. Couldn't you let me have a little
supper at any rate?"
Euphemia glanced at me. I nodded.
"You are welcome to some supper," she said, "Come in! We eat in
the kitchen because it is more convenient, and because it is so
much more cheerful than the dining-room. There is a pump out
there, and here is a towel, if you would like to wash your hands."
As the man went out the back door I complimented my wife. She was
really an admirable hostess.
The individual in faded snuff-color was certainly hungry, and he
seemed to enjoy his supper. During the meal he gave us some
account of himself. He was an artist and had traveled, mostly on
foot it would appear, over a great part of the country.
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