"Who are you?" asked Nicholas Snyders, taking no pains to disguise his
disappointment.
"I am a pedlar," answered the stranger. His voice was clear and not
unmusical, with just the suspicion of roguishness behind.
"Not wanting anything," answered Nicholas Snyders drily. "Shut the
door and be careful of the step."
But instead the stranger took a chair and drew it nearer, and, himself
in shadow, looked straight into Nicholas Snyders' face and laughed.
"Are you quite sure, Nicholas Snyders? Are you quite sure there is
nothing you require?"
"Nothing," growled Nicholas Snyders--"except the sight of your back."
The stranger bent forward, and with his long, lean hand touched
Nicholas Snyders playfully upon the knee. "Wouldn't you like a
soul, Nicholas Snyders?" he asked.
"Think of it," continued the strange pedlar, before Nicholas could
recover power of speech. "For forty years you have drunk the joy of
being mean and cruel. Are you not tired of the taste, Nicholas
Snyders? Wouldn't you like a change? Think of it, Nicholas
Snyders--the joy of being loved, of hearing yourself blessed, instead
of cursed! Wouldn't it be good fun, Nicholas Snyders--just by way of
a change? If you don't like it, you can return and be yourself
again.
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