One man walked in silence, making a shame-on-you gesture. Another muttered a skeptical “uh, huh” beneath his breath. A woman stage-whispered to her friend about “the scam that was on TV last night.” Two men in suits wanted to inspect the paperwork. One man, clearly agitated, yelled: “Didn’t you get busted? How do you hold your head up?”

And so it went the day before Thanksgiving for Steve Demain, a lanky, homeless 20-year-old who manned a United Homeless Organization table with a water jug in front of Pennsylvania Station.

Mr. Demain has been living in New York City shelters, he said, since he was disowned by his father in Chicago in July. Six days a week, he works behind the group’s familiar red tables.

On Tuesday, Attorney General Andrew M. Cuomo charged United Homeless Organization’s directors, Steven Riley and Myra Walker, with the misuse of funds for personal expenses, poor accounting and making misleading statements about the work done by the organization. The details of the lawsuit hit the evening news, the Web and the newspapers, and they were common knowledge by Wednesday. Hence the gestures, dirty looks and occasional dirty words hurled Mr. Demain’s way on a gray November afternoon promising rain.

Mr. Demain offered a defense, of sorts. It has been public knowledge for some time, he said, that the people behind the tables are usually homeless, and that they keep any amount above $15 for themselves. “Steve did what he did,” he said of Mr. Riley. “I don’t know why he did it, but he did and we’re feeling the aftershocks.”

Passers-by, many angry, seemed to soften a bit when they learned of Mr. Demain’s plight. Patrick Langworthy, 26, of Forest Hills, was upset at news that the founders were accused of having used the money for “luxury vacations,” because he had long dropped money in the U.H.O. jars.

But when told that Mr. Demain was actually homeless and that the money would go to him, he reflected and dropped in four quarters. “Now I know, I would still give,” he said. “I want to help these guys out.”

Mr. Demain said: “The people don’t say, ‘Help me, help me.’ It’s because they are embarrassed to say that. If someone were to ask, they’d tell them privately.” The organization essentially gives them a dignified way to panhandle, which is why he is very careful in the choice of wording he uses “help someone who is homeless” as opposed to “help the homeless.” That is not true for everyone, he said. “There are a lot of U.H.O. members who say anything to get a donation.”

At one point, James Leinbach, 43, a friend of Mr. Demain’s who was formerly homeless, jumped in to ask the crowd. He had worked the same table until a few months ago. “U.H.O. did help me,” Mr. Leinbach said. “It got me food. It got me my train tickets. It got me socks.”

He also met a lot of people, including his companion, Charlotte Mooney, a 52-year-old financial analyst who lives in Gramercy Park. They met just before Labor Day weekend at that table in front of Penn Station. Now he lives with her.

After his first hour on Wednesday, Mr. Demain had collected around $10, an improvement over Tuesday, when the news broke, when he only got $6 over his entire five-hour shift.

On a good day in front of Penn Station, Mr. Demain said he could clear $25 to $30. “Until the day we are told we can’t be out here, I’m still going to be out here,” he said.

But apparently, that is not true for everyone: Mr. Demain was the only one from his group who showed up for the afternoon shift.

As a drizzle began, a beefy, clean-shaven man came up to Mr. Demain. “Scam artist!” he yelled. “How come nobody gives money to me? I’m homeless.”

Mr. Demain reached into the apron pocket, pulled out two crumpled dollar bills, and handed them over.