“I don’t want to live like a jintleman,” he said; “I want to work honest, and git wage.”
“Why did yer cut and run then?” said his companion suddenly and sharply. “Did they wallop yer?”
Frank started. How could this strange boy possibly know that he had run away? His alarmed face seemed to afford the tramp the keenest amusement; he laughed long and loud, leaning back on the steps in an ecstasy, and said at breathless intervals:
“You’re just the innocentest, greenest little chap. How old are yer?”
Frank did not answer; he was considering the best means of getting away from this undesirable acquaintance, who presently, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his jacket, remarked with recovered gravity:
“In course, yer know, no one ’ull take a boy what’s run away.”
This was a new and alarming idea to Frank.
“Won’t they?” he said earnestly.
“Certingly not,” continued the tramp. “Where’s yer carikter? You ’ain’t got none.”
Frank hung his head. He wondered he had not thought of this before.