"Where did you get the currant cake?" I asked.
"Stole it."
"And the waistcoat?"
"Stole it," said the man, and then continued with thinly-veiled sarcasm in his voice. "My name's Moleskin Joe, as I've told you already. I don't mind havin' seen my father or mother, and I was bred in a workhouse. I'm forty years of age—more or less—and I started work when I was seven. I've been in workhouse, reformatory, prison, and church. I went to prison of my own free will when the times were bad and I couldn't get a mouthful of food outside, but it was always against my will that I went to church. I can fight like hell and drink like blazes, and now that you know as much about my life as I know myself you'll maybe be satisfied. You're the most impudent brat that I have ever met."
The man made the last assertion in a quiet voice, as if stating a fact which could not be contradicted. I did not feel angry or annoyed with the man who made sarcastic remarks so frankly and good-humouredly. For a long while I kept silence and the two of us plodded on together.
"Why do you drink?" I asked at last.
"Why do I drink?" repeated the man in a voice of wonder. "Such a funny question! If God causes a man to thirst He'll allow him to drink, for He's not as bad a chap as some of the parsons make Him out to be. Drink draws a man nearer to heaven and multiplies the stars; and 'Drink when you can, the drouth will come' is my motto. Do you smoke or chew?"
He pulled a plug of tobacco from his pocket, bit a piece from the end of it, and handed the plug to me. Now and again I had taken a whiff at Micky's Jim's pipe, and I liked a chew of tobacco. Without answering Moleskin's question I took the proffered tobacco and bit a piece off it.
"There's some hope for you yet," was all he said.
We walked along together, and my mate asked a farmer who was standing by the roadside for a few coppers to help us on our way.