“Writing home to my folks to tell them how much I'm enjoying your visit,” Peter said, “and how sorry I am you 've got to be moving along in a day or so.”
But Booge did not move along. After Peter had ostentatiously bathed once or twice Booge became painfully clean. He would come in from the jobs Peter set him and wash his face and hands violently.
“You 're getting as clean as them fellows that get five dollars' worth of baths at the Y. M. C. A., ain't you?” Peter said scornfully.
“A feller can get lots of things at the Y. M. C. A. for five dollars that he can't get without it,” said Booge good naturedly. “You don't want to knock me all the time, Peter. A horse crops grass one way, and a cow crops it another way, and the Lord is the maker of them all, as the feller said. So long as a man has a clean conscience and a clear eye he can walk right up to any bull alive—if the bull wants to let him.”
“I'm glad you got a clean conscience,” said Peter. “Maybe that's why you don't worry.”
“If you feed a pig regular it don't ask to be petted,” said Booge, “and that's the way with me, but you ought to give me some credit for the way I pitched in and labored in this here driftwood vineyard when you said to. I bet the prodigal son hated to get down to work after his pa's party, and yet he got to be quite a respected feller in his neighborhood. You oughtn't to think a man can't work because he don't. There's lots of fellers never seen the sea that has eat salt codfish.”
“I guess you read that in a book,” said Peter.
“I guess not,” said Booge. “I never read but one book in my life. I read the Bible, unexpurgated edition, when I was a kid, and it sort of cured me of book readin'. There ain't hardly a comfortable word in it for an easy-goin' man. If the Bible had been published to-day it would have got some mighty severe criticism.”
“Booge,” said Peter suddenly, “how'd you ever happen to become a tramp?”
“How'd you ever happen to become a shanty-boatman?” asked Booge, grinning, but Peter was serious.