breaking. There was a house at the end of the town and a rich man lived there, with lots of property; so we decided to call on him at night. But we were caught, all the five of us, that night in his house. We were taken to the police station and then straight to the police captain’s. ‘I’ll question them myself,’ says he. He came in with a pipe, a cup of tea was brought in after him. He was a hearty-looking fellow, with whiskers. He sat down. Three others were brought in besides ourselves, tramps too. A tramp’s a funny chap you know, brothers: he never remembers anything; you might break a post on his head, you won’t make him remember; he knows nothing. The police captain turned straight to me. ‘Who are you?’ he growled out at me with a voice that came out of his boots. Well, of course, I said what we all do: ‘I don’t remember anything, your honour, I’ve forgotten.’
“‘Wait a bit, I shall have something more to say to you, I know your face,’ says he, staring, all eyes, at me. But I had never seen him before. Then to the next: Who are you?’
“‘Cut-and-run, your honour.’
“‘Is that your name?’
“‘Yes, your honour.’
“‘All right, you’re Cut-and-run, and you?’ he turns to the third.
“‘And I follow him, your honour.’
“‘But what’s your name?’
“‘That’s my name, your honour: I follow him.’
“‘But who has given you that name, you rascal?’
“‘Good people, your honour. There are good people in the world, your honour, we all know.’
“‘And who are these good people?’
“‘I’ve rather forgotten, your honour, you must graciously forgive me.’
“‘You’ve forgotten them all?’
“‘Yes, all, your honour.’
“‘But you must have had a father and mother? You must remember them, anyway?’
“‘It must be supposed I had them, your honour, but I’ve rather forgotten them too; perhaps I did have them your honour.’
“‘But where have you lived till now?’
“‘In the woods, your honour.’
“‘Always in the woods?’
“‘Always.’
