But to return to the woman in Reno who opened herdoor to me in the deepening twilight. At the first glimpseof her kindly face I took my cue. I became a sweet，innocent， unfortunate lad. I couldn’t speak. I opened mymouth and closed it again. Never in my life before had Iasked any one for food. My embarrassment was painful，extreme. I was ashamed. I， who looked upon beggingas a delightful whimsicality， thumbed myself over into atrue son of Mrs. Grundy， burdened with all her bourgeoismorality. Only the harsh pangs of the belly-need couldcompel me to do so degraded and ignoble a thing as begfor food. And into my face I strove to throw all the wanwistfulness of famished and ingenuous youth unused tomendicancy.
“You are hungry， my poor boy，” she said.
I had made her speak first. I nodded my head and gulped.
“It is the first time I have ever ... asked，” I faltered.
“Come right in.” The door swung open. “We havealready finished eating， but the fire is burning and I canget something up for you.”
She looked at me closely when she got me into the light.
“I wish my boy were as healthy and strong as you，” shesaid. “But he is not strong. He sometimes falls down. Hejust fell down this afternoon and hurt himself badly， thepoor dear.”
She mothered him with her voice， with an ineffabletenderness in it that I yearned to appropriate. I glancedat him. He sat across the table， slender and pale， his headswathed in bandages. He did not move， but his eyes，bright in the lamplight， were fixed upon me in a steadyand wondering stare.
“Just like my poor father，” I said. “He had the fallingsickness. Some kind of vertigo. It puzzled the doctors.
They never could make out what was the matter withhim.”
“He is dead？” she queried gently， setting before me half adozen soft-boiled eggs.
“Dead，” I gulped. “Two weeks ago. I was with him whenit happened. We were crossing the street together. He fellright down. He was never conscious again. They carriedhim into a drug-store. He died there.”
And thereat I developed the pitiful tale of my father—how， after my mother’s death， he and I had gone to SanFrancisco from the ranch； how his pension （he was anold soldier）， and the little other money he had， was notenough； and how he had tried book-canvassing. Also， Inarrated my own woes during the few days after his deaththat I had spent alone and forlorn on the streets of SanFrancisco. While that good woman warmed up biscuits，fried bacon， and cooked more eggs， and while I kept pacewith her in taking care of all that she placed before me， Ienlarged the picture of that poor orphan boy and filled inthe details. I became that poor boy. I believed in him asI believed in the beautiful eggs I was devouring. I couldhave wept for myself. I know the tears did get into myvoice at times. It was very effective.
In fact， with every touch I added to the picture， thatkind soul gave me something also. She made up a lunchfor me to carry away. She put in many boiled eggs， pepperand salt， and other things， and a big apple. She providedme with three pairs of thick red woollen socks. She gaveme clean handkerchiefs and other things which I havesince forgotten. And all the time she cooked more andmore and I ate more and more. I gorged like a savage； butthen it was a far cry across the Sierras on a blind baggage，and I knew not when nor where I should find my nextmeal. And all the while， like a death’s-head at the feast，silent and motionless， her own unfortunate boy sat andstared at me across the table. I suppose I represented tohim mystery， and romance， and adventure—all that wasdenied the feeble flicker of life that was in him. And yet Icould not forbear， once or twice， from wondering if he sawthrough me down to the bottom of my mendacious heart.
“But where are you going to？” she asked me.
“Salt Lake City，” said I. “I have a sister there—a marriedsister.” （I debated if I should make a Mormon out of her，and decided against it.） “Her husband is a plumber—acontracting plumber.”
Now I knew that contracting plumbers were usuallycredited with making lots of money. But I had spoken. Itwas up to me to qualify.
