“Yes, but where do you sleep?”
“Sometimes in the station house; sometimes in barns; anywhere I can.”
“Where are your friends?”
“I haven’t any friends, lady, except kind-hearted people like you, who sometimes take pity on me and give me something to eat.”
“What will become of you?”
“I don’t know, lady; I don’t know, and sometimes I don’t care.”
“I do not mean to be curious, but would you mind telling me how you came to be in such a plight?” said the kind woman.
“It is a long story,” said the tramp wearily. “I had a good home and was well brought up; but somehow I never seemed to prosper for long. I guess I was slack and careless; everything seemed to come so hard and go so easily. I worked on and off. When I got anything I ate it up, drank it up, or let it get away—didn’t know how to save—and now I am old and have no home and nobody to respect me.” A tear trickled down the old man’s red nose.
Then he stood up and handed back the empty bowl. “But I must not bother you with my troubles,” he said. “Thank you for the food and for speaking kindly to me.” With that, he tipped his hat and hobbled off.
They watched him out of the window as he went down the street. Soon they saw a police officer come around the corner.