THE SONG OF THE LARK
Western roads were getting strict." Their faces were blistered, their eyes blood-shot, and their shoes looked fit only for the trash pile.
"I suppose you 're hungry?" Mrs. Kronborg asked. "I suppose you both drink?" she went on thoughtfully, not censoriously.
The huskier of the two hoboes, a bushy, bearded fellow, rolled his eyes and said, "I wonder?" But the other, who was old and spare, with a sharp nose and watery eyes, sighed. "Some has one affliction, some another," he said.
Mrs. Kronborg reflected. "Well," she said at last, "you can't get liquor here, anyway. I am going to ask you to vacate, because I want to have a little picnic under this tank for the freight crew that brought me along. I wish I had lunch enough to provide you, but I ain't. The station agent says he gets his provisions over there at the post-office store, and if you are hungry you can get some canned stuff there." She opened her handbag and gave each of the tramps a half-dollar.
The old man wiped his eyes with his forefinger. "Thank 'ee, ma am. A can of tomatters will taste pretty good to me. I was n't always walkin ties; I had a good job in Cleveland before—"
The hairy tramp turned on him fiercely. "Aw, shut up on that, grandpaw! Ain't you got no gratitude? What do you want to hand the lady that fur?"
The old man hung his head and turned away. As he went off, his comrade looked after him and said to Mrs. Kronborg: "It 's true, what he says. He had a job in the car shops; but he had bad luck." They both limped away toward the store, and Mrs. Kronborg sighed. She was not afraid of tramps. She always talked to them, and never turned one away. She hated to think how many of them there were, crawling along the tracks over that vast country.
Her reflections were cut short by Ray and Giddy and
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