And Heaven bless your soul!
Joshua’s lips were twitching over the unconscious humor of this weird verse, but he straightened them when he noted that the author’s keen little eyes were watching him defiantly.
“Ain’t dat a nifty sob-squeezer, Jack?” he wanted to know.
“It’s very good,” Joshua lied placidly.
“It gets de coin,” remarked The Whimperer, recovering the card. “Dat’s wot I call whimpermeter. I make up dem voises meself, an’ sometimes I peddle ’em to udder stiffs dat ain’t got de savvy an’ wot I calls de capacity to compose ’em fer demselves. Dat’s w’y dey call me De Whimperer—whimperin’ is me graft. See? And I make more money dan any stiff on de road, I’ll bet. But if youse’re t’rough scoffin’, le’s get outa here an’ beat it down to de jungles. We’ll build a fire an’ wait fer de eleven-o’clock t’rough freight, bound west. She stops here fer woter. Rap on a dish fer de lady to come out o’ de kitchen—and youse pay fer me, too. Wot d’ye say, Jack? I’m a little short dis evenin’, but I’ll slip youse it to-morrow.”
This was more than Joshua had bargained for, but when the proprietress came at his signal he meekly paid for his own and the John Yegg’s meal. Then, scarce knowing why he did it, he shouldered his telescope and followed the tramp out into the soft summer night, steeped in the perfume of roses and serenaded by choirs of frogs.
The Whimperer shuffled along toward the river at the side of Joshua. Joshua really had no place to go unless he rented a room in the town’s one hotel, and if he could catch a train westward-bound at eleven o’clock that night he preferred to do so. He therefore accompanied the tramp, curious to learn more of the strange life into which he had ventured as mysteriously as man is born upon the earth, willy nilly.
In the river bottom, some distance from the village, The Whimperer built a fire—after Joshua had collected twigs and driftwood.
“It ain’t cold,” said the tramp, “but a fire’s nice. Now youse lay down an’ get a little sleep, an’ I’ll wake youse up w’en de freight is ramblin’ in. Go on—do wot I tell youse. If youse’re gonta be me kid, youse’ve gotta min’ me.”