"Yep, celery and servants. One's hard to get an' the other's hard to keep."
"Say, Jack."
"What?"
"Shall we have our cigars and coffee here or in th' drawin' room?"
"O, let's have James bring 'em in th' drawin' room."
"Maybe I don't look like a tramp to you," he continued, "but I'm the genuine article, not the tomato-can or barrel-house bum type, but a real, up-to-date, twentieth-century tramp who respects his profession. Why am I a tramp? Because I like it. When did I start? When I was 11 years old. What is my name? None but myself knows it. I call myself A No. 1 because I'm an A. No. 1 tramp."
DID YA SEEN IT HEN?
NAW—WHAT WAS IT?
(HONK!)
He had a most convincing way with him and proceeded to spin off a tale of his adventures which differed somewhat from the ordinary story that the average tramp will tell you; how he had been hounded by the police, or released from jail and couldn't get work, or had bad luck in business, being crushed out by the heartless trusts until he had to tramp or starve, ending up with an appeal for the "price of a bed, mister."
"I've kept a record of the towns I've been in ever since I've been on the road," continued A. No. 1. "and up to date I've traveled 445,405 miles, and it's cost me just $7.61. Out of that distance there's been 92,000 miles of it by water. In 1906 I traveled 19,335 miles for 26 cents, and in the year 1907 I traveled between Stamford and West Haven, Conn. I jumped a street car and the conductor made me pay my fare. Oh, I always have a little money, and I'm honest, too, and that's saying a good deal for a tramp. Of course, once in a while I go hungry, but that's when I can't get a potato."