oke?"

Louise, grave-eyed, watched the two men, Overland sullen and scowling,
Collie fierce and flaming.

"We ain't used to--to real ladies," apologized Overland. "We could do
better if we practiced up."

"Of course!" said Louise, smiling. "But the poetry."

"U-m-m, yes. The po'try. What'll I give her, Collie?"

"I don't care," replied the boy. "You might try 'Casey Jones.' It's
better'n anything _you_ ever wrote."

"That? I guess not! That ain't her style. I mean one of my
_own_--somethin' _good_."

"Oh, I don't know. 'Toledo Blake,'" mumbled Collie.

"Nope! But I guess the 'Grand Old Privilege' will do for a starter."

"Oh, good!" And Louise clapped her hands. "The title is splendid. Is the
poem original?"

The tramp bowed a trifle haughtily. "Original? Me life's work, lady."
And he awkwardly essayed to button a buttonless coat, coughed, waved his
half-consumed cigarette toward the skies, and began:--

"Folks say we got no morals--that they all fell in the soup;
And no conscience--so the would-be goodies say;
And I guess our good intentions _did_ jest up and flew the coop,
While we stood around and watched 'em fade away.

"But there's one thing that we're lovin' more than money, grub, or booze,
Or even decent folks that speaks us fair;
And that's the Grand Old Privilege to chuck our luck and choose,
_Any_ road at _any_ time for _any_ where."

And Overland, his hand above his heart, bowed effusively.

"I like 'would-be goodies,'" said Louise. "Sounds just like a mussy,
sticky cookie that's too sweet. And 'Any road at any time for any
where--' I think that is real."

Overland puffed his chest and cleared his throat. "I can't help it,
Miss. Born that way. Cut my first tooth on a book of pomes ma got for a
premium with Mustang Liniment."

"Well, thank you." And Louise nodded gayly. "Keep the tobacco and papers
to remember me by. I must go."

"We don't need them to remember you by," said Overland gallantly. Then
the smile suddenly left his face.

Down the Old Meadow Trail, unseen by the girl and the boy, rode a single
horseman, and something at his hip glinted in the sun. Overland's hand
went to his own hip. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and slowly
recovered himself. "What's the use?" he muttered.

But there was that in his tone which brought Collie's head up. The lad
pushed back his battered felt hat and ran his fingers through his wavy
black hair, perplexedly. "What's the matter