His companions seemed ever to play intolerable parts.

They were ever upraising the ghost of shame on the stick of their curiosity.

He turned toward the tattered man as one at bay.

"Now, don't bother me," he repeated with desperate menace.
"Well, Lord knows I don't wanta bother anybody," said the other.

There was a little accent of despair in his voice as he replied, "Lord knows I 've gota 'nough m' own t' tend to." The youth, who had been holding a bitter debate with himself and casting glances of hatred and contempt at the tattered man, here spoke in a hard voice.