“Just about,” said Jerry. “Here’s your load of hay,” and he motioned to the barge tied to the bank.
“Oh that’s not mine,” the tramp said pleasantly. “You see the way it was I went to sleep on that barge. It was tied to the bank, some where along here. The first thing I knew there was a collision and I heard some one on the schooner shouting that I was sinking him.”
“I guess you came pretty near it,” put in Ned.
“Yes; well maybe I did, but it wasn’t my fault. The barge must have drifted down stream while I was asleep. Then you boys came along in the nick of time, and—well you know the rest.”
“Are you stopping around here?” asked Jerry.
“Well, not so’s you could notice it,” the tramp replied. “I’m a sort of wandering minstrel you might say, here to-day and gone to-morrow.”
“Can we do anything for you?” asked Jerry, taking pity on the man’s rather forlorn appearance. “Give you a ride down to the town, or anything like that?”
“No, thanks just the same,” replied the tramp. “It’s going to be a warm night, and my clothes will soon dry. Besides I’m a nature lover and a student of the stars. I like to sleep out of doors, so I’ll just curl up here under a bush and sleep the sleep of the just. In the morning I will hie me on my way again, fair sirs.”
“Then we can’t help you?” asked Ned, who, with the other boys, was somewhat puzzled by the man’s queer manner and rather high-flown talk.
“Well, to tell you the truth the only thing you could do for me would be to hand over a chicken sandwich or two,” the tramp said. “And I don’t suppose you carry such luxuries with you on your cruises.”