“Uncle Boss, why can’t something be done for tramps?”
“How done for ’em?”
“Couldn’t some means of employing them be arrived at?”
“Work!” he ejaculated. “That’s the very thing the crawling divils are terrified they might get.”
“Yes; but couldn’t some law be made to help them?”
“A law to make me cut up Caddagat and give ten of ’em each a piece, and go on the wallaby myself, I suppose?”
“No, uncle; but there was a poor young fellow here this morning who, I feel sure, was in earnest when he asked for work.”
“Helen!” bawled uncle Jay-Jay.
“Well, what is it?” she inquired, appearing in the doorway.
“Next time Sybylla is giving a tramp some tucker, you keep a sharp eye on her or she will be sloping one of these days. There was a young fellow here today with a scarlet moustache and green eyes, and she’s dean gone on him, and has been bullying me to give him half Caddagat.”