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 The man wore a soft hat drawn well down over his face. He was slender and tall, and walked with his body carried slightly forward, like one who is used to meeting and overcoming difficulties.

A young woman passed him. He reached out and touched her on the arm. She stopped, and turned immediately toward him, her eyes lowered, her manner submissive, but utterly negative.

"I am looking for a man by the name of Porgy," he said in a clear pleasant voice. "Can you direct me to his room?"

"Porgy?" she repeated slowly, as though trying to remember. Then she called aloud: "Anybody; hyuh know a man by de name ob Porgy?"

Several of the silent bystanders looked up. "Porgy?" they repeated, one after another, with shakes of the head.

The white man laughed reassuringly, as though quite used to the proceeding. "Come," he urged, "I am his friend, Mr. Alan Archdale; I know that he lives here, and I want to help him."

From behind her tubs, Serena advanced, knocking the ashes from her clay pipe as she came. When she was quite close, she stopped, and peered up into the face above her. Then she turned upon the girl.