In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Then he stood up and repeated it again. I'm hungry. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe.
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