an old tin pan, which one of the more expert among us hammered into a
circlet and scoured bright with sand....

* * * * *

But soon I grew tired of the gang and started on alone.

"You'd better beat it on out of the South as quick as you can," an old
tramp had warned me, "they're hell on a bum down here, and harder yet on
a Yankee ... no, they haven't forgot _that_ yet--not by a damn sight!"

I was soon to wish that I had listened to the old tramp's wisdom.

* * * * *

In the chill grey dip of an early spring dawn I dropped off a freight in
the yards of the town of Granton.

I drew my threadbare coat closer as I made my way up the track, on the
look-out for some place to go into and warm myself. Usually, in chilly
weather, each railroad station throughout the country has a stove a-glow
in the waiting room ... I found the railroad station, and the stove,
red-hot, was there ... it was good to be near a fire. In the South it
can be at times heavily cold. There is a moisture and a rawness in the
weather, there, that hurts.

I was not alone. Two negro tramps followed me; like myself, seeking
warmth and shelter. Then came a white tramp.

We stood around the stove, which shone red in the early half-light of
dawn. We shivered and rubbed our hands. Then we fell into tramps' gossip
about the country we were in.

The two negroes soon left to catch a freight for Austin. My fellow tramp
and I stretched ourselves along the benches. He yawned with a loud noise
like an animal. "I'm worn-out," he said, "I've been riding the bumpers
all night." I noticed immediately that he did not speak tramp argot.

"And _I_ tried to sleep on the bare boards of a box car."

We had disposed ourselves comfortably to sleep for the few hours till
wide day, in the station, when the station master came. He poked the
fire brighter, shook it down, then turned to us. "Boys," not unkindly,
"sorry, but you can't sleep here ... it's the rules."

We shuffled to our feet.

"Do you mind if we stand about the stove till the sun's high enough to
take the chill off things?"

"No."

But, standing, we fell to talking ... comparing notes....

"I've been through here once before," remarked my companion, whom I
never knew otherwise than as "Bud."

"There's a cotton seed mill up the tracks a way toward town, and we can
sleep there, if you want ... to-day's Sunday, and no one will be around,
wo