The tramp, turning, found he was in the hands of a man whom he was compelled to respect. He cared nothing for rank or learning, but physical force held him in awe.
He stood mute, unprepared, with an excuse.
"Why, it's you, Andy!" said the blacksmith. "Why did this rascal stop you?"
"He wants me to give him money. I've just been to the bank in Benton to draw out some for Mr. Gale at the hotel."
"Why, you scoundrel!" exclaimed the indignant blacksmith, shaking the tramp till his teeth chattered. "So you're a thief, are you?"
"Let me go!" whined the tramp. "I haven't taken anything. I'm a poor, unfortunate man. If I could get any work to do I wouldn't have been driven to this."
"No doubt you're a church member," said the blacksmith, in a sarcastic tone.
"Let me go! I'll promise to lead a good life. This young man says he'll give me two dollars. I'll take it and go."
"Don't give him a cent, Andy. You can go, but I'll give you something to remember me by."
He gave the tramp a vigorous kick that nearly prostrated him, and then, getting into his wagon, said: