"
The tramp who had plumbed the depths of the creek's foot
of water and two feet of soft mud was crawling ashore.
"Whadda YOU want now?" inquired Billy Byrne. "A piece
o' soap?"
"I'll get youse yet," spluttered the moist one through his
watery whiskers.
"Ferget it," admonished Billy, "an' hit the trail." He pointed
toward the railroad right of way. "An' you, too, John L," he
added turning to the other victim of his artistic execution, who
was now sitting up. "Hike!"
Mumbling and growling the two unwashed shuffled away,
and were presently lost to view along the vanishing track.
The solitary camper had returned to his culinary effort, as
unruffled and unconcerned, apparently, as though naught had
occurred to disturb his peaceful solitude.
"Sit down," he said after a moment, looking up at Billy,
"and have a bite to eat with me. Take that leather easy chair.
The Louis Quatorze is too small and spindle-legged for comfort."
He waved his hand invitingly toward the sward beside
the fire.
For a moment he was entirely absorbed in the roasting fowl
impaled upon a sharp stick which he held in his right hand.
Then he presently broke again into verse.
Around the world and back again; we saw it all.
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