Two days later, Brian and Betty Jo were just finishing dinner when a
step sounded on the porch, and a man appeared in the open doorway.
The stranger was dressed in the weird and flashy costume considered by
his class to be the proper thing for an outing in the country, and his
face betrayed the sad fact that, while he was mentally, spiritually, and
physically greatly in need of a change from the unclean atmosphere
that had made him what he was, he was incapable of benefiting by more
wholesome conditions of living. He was, in fact, a perfect specimen of
that type of clubman who, in order to enjoy fully the beautiful life of
God's unspoiled world, must needs take with him all of the sordid and
vicious life of that world wherein he is most at home.
With no word of greeting, he said, with that superior air which so many
city folk assume when addressing those who live in the country: "Have
you people any fresh vegetables or eggs to sell?"
Brian and Betty Jo arose, and Brian, stepping forward, said, with a
smile: "No, we have nothing to sell here; but I think our neighbor, Mr.
Warden, just over the hill, would be glad to supply you. Won't you come
in?"
The man stared at Brian, turned an appraising eye on Betty Jo; then
looked curiously about the room.
"I beg your pardon," he said, removing his cap, "I thought, when I
spoke, that you were natives.
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