"Here, come a little further. Now do you see that man there?"
Yes, I could make out a figure in the deepening dusk--the figure of a
man on the back stoop--a tired looking man, in his shirt-sleeves, who
sat upon a low chair--no, not a chair--an empty box. He was leaning
forward with his elbows on his knees, and the hands dropped limp. He
was smoking, too, I could barely see his pipe, and but for the odor of
very strong tobacco, would not have known he had a pipe. Why does the
master of the house permit his servants to so desecrate this beautiful
home? I thought.
"Well, shall we go now?" said the Major.
I turned silently and we retraced our steps. I think neither of us
spoke for the distance of a square.
"Guess you didn't know the man there on the back porch?" said the
Major.
"No; why?" I asked dubiously.
"I hardly thought you would, and besides the poor fellow's tired, and
it was best not to disturb him," said the Major.
"Why; who was it--some one I know?"
"It was Tommy."
"Oh," said I, inquiringly, "he's employed there in some capacity?"
"Yes, as master of the house."
"You don't mean it?"
"I certainly do. He owns it, and made every cent of the money that
paid for it!" said the Major proudly.
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