my verses, nor any other
would ever get there."

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. The mist and rain

In England and the hot old plain from Needles to Berdoo.
We kept a-rambling all the time. I rustled grub, he rustled rhyme--
Blind-baggage, hoof it, ride or climb--we always put it through.

"You're a good sort," he broke off, suddenly. "There ain't many boes
that would have done as much for a fellow."

"It was two against one," replied Billy, "an' I don't like them odds.
Besides I like your poetry. Where d'ye get it--make it up?"

"Lord, no," laughed the other. "If I could do that I wouldn't be
pan-handling. A guy by the name of Henry Herbert Knibbs did them. Great,
ain't they?"

"They sure is. They get me right where I live," and then, after a pause;
"sure you got enough fer two, bo?"

"I have enough for you, old top," replied the host, "even if I only had
half as much as I have. Here, take first crack at the ambrosia. Sorry
I have but a single cup; but James has broken the others. James is very
careless. Sometimes I almost feel that I shall have to let him go."

"Who's James?" asked Billy.

"James? Oh, James is my man," replied the other.

Billy looked up at his companion quizzically, then he tasted the dark,
thick concoction