fice not knowing how to feed his wife and kids.
"Did Mr. Beman throw up his hat upon the floor?" he asked.
"Ah wouldn't wondah. 'Dat's like what you-all done to me about dem oats,' he said to Mistah Mahkyn; and afteh dat dey never spoke again, and de two fambiles didn't till Miss Marion mahried Mistah Waltah Mahkyn."
Peewee knew about that.
Burtin, when he took him to bed, would have helped him undress, but he would not submit to this indignity. He recalled, as he snuggled into the cool, smooth sheets, in the pleasant room, after the negro had left him, the cement bags among which he had slept the night before, but he thought with more excitement about Matthew Beman.
Beman had been, at one time, no different from Peewee himself, and had perhaps at some time crept in under a tarpaulin and shifted his feverish body through the night among cement bags. He had, it is almost certain, slept in cellars and had eaten unhealthy food from his dirty fingers in alleys and areaways, and had
