The cry of hunger never reached the inside of his breast.

It was guarded with a covering of iron, impenetrable to the voice of misery.
And it was to this man that Mrs.Wentworth, in her hour of bitter need applied.

She entered his store and enquired of the clerk for Mr.
Swartz.
"You, will find him in that room," he replied, pointing to a chamber in the rear of the store.
Mrs.Wentworth entered the room, and found Mr.Swartz seated before a desk.

The office, for it was his private office, was most elegantly furnished, and exhibited marks of the proprietor's wealth.
Mr.Swartz elevated his brows with surprise, as he looked at the care-worn expression and needy attire of the woman before him.
"Vot can I do for you my coot voman," he enquired, without even extending the courtesy of offering her a seat.
Mrs.Wentworth remained for a moment without replying.

She was embarrassed at the uncourteous reception Mr.Swartz gave her.