hed
like careless children, or gods, there on the edge of the bank. I know
that I laughed till it seemed the top of my head would come off, and
I drank from the milk-tin till I was nigh waterlogged. Serious
discussion arose as to whether we could successfully board the freight
when it pulled up the grade, what of the weight of water secreted on
our persons. This particular phase of the situation just about
finished the coon. He had to break off from water-carrying for at
least five minutes while he lay down and rolled with laughter.

The lengthening shadows stretched farther and farther across the
river, and the soft, cool twilight came on, and ever we drank water,
and ever our ebony cup-bearer brought more and more. Forgotten was the
beaten woman of the hour before. That was a page read and turned over;
I was busy now with this new page, and when the engine whistled on the
grade, this page would be finished and another begun; and so the book
of life goes on, page after page and pages without end--when one is
young.

And then we played a game in which the coon failed to be stuck. The
victim was a lean and dyspeptic-looking hobo, the one who had laughed
least of all of us. We said we didn't want any water--which was the
truth. Not the wealth of Ormuz and of Ind, nor the pressure of a
pneumatic ram, could have forced another drop into my saturated
carcass. The coon looked disappointed, then rose to the occasion and
guessed he'd have some. He meant it, too. He had some, and then some,
and then some. Ever the melancholy hobo climbed down and up the steep
bank, and ever the coon called for more. He drank more water than all
the rest of us put together. The twilight deepened into night, the
stars came out, and he still drank on. I do believe that if the
whistle of the freight hadn't sounded, he'd be there yet, swilling
water and revenge while the melancholy hobo toiled down and up.

But the whistle sounded. The page was done. We sprang to our feet and
strung out alongside the track. There she came, coughing and
spluttering up the grade, the headlight turning night into day and
silhouetting us in sharp relief. The engine passed us, and we were all
running with the train, some boarding on the side-ladders, others
"springing" the side-doors of empty box-cars and climbing in. I caught
a flat-car loaded with mixed lumber and crawled away into a
comfortable nook. I lay on my back with a newspaper under my head for
a pillow. Abo