His movements were so awkward and his walk so unusual in that neighborhood that Tod stepped out on the low porch of the Station to get a better view of him.
From the man's dress, and from his manner of looking about him, as if feeling his way, Tod concluded that he was a stranger and had tramped the beach for the first time.

At the sight of the surfman the man left the dune, struck the boat path, and walked straight toward the porch.
"Kind o' foggy, ain't it ?" "Yes," replied Tod, scrutinizing the man's face and figure, particularly his clothes, which were queerly cut and with a foreign air about them.

He saw, too, that he was strong and well built, and not over thirty years of age.
"You work here ?" continued the stranger, mounting the steps and coming closer, his eyes taking in Tod, the porch, and the view of the sitting-room through the open window.
"I do," answered Tod in the same tone, his eyes still on the man's face.
"Good job, is it ?" he asked, unbuttoning his coat.
"I get enough to eat," answered Tod curtly, "and enough to do." He had resumed his position against the jamb of the door and stood perfectly impassive, without offering any courtesy of any kind.

Strangers who asked questions were never very welcome.

Then, again, the inquiry about his private life nettled him.
The man, without noticing the slight rebuff, looked about for a seat, settled down on the top step of the porch, pulled his cap from his head, and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand.
Then he said slowly, as if to himself: "I took the wrong road and got consid'able het up." Tod watched him while he mopped his head with a red cotton handkerchief, but made no reply.