"I think I am," the tramp said.
"Oh! then I'll come a bit of the way with you if you don't walk too fast. It's bit lonesome walking this time of day."
The tramp nodded his head, and the boy started limping along by his side.
"I'm eighteen," he said casually. "I bet you thought I was younger."
"Fifteen, I'd have said."
"You'd have backed a loser. Eighteen last August, and I've been on the road six years. I ran away from home five times when I was a little 'un, and the police took me back each time. Very good to me, the police was. Now I haven't got a home to run away from."
"Nor have I," the tramp said calmly.
"Oh, I can see what you are," the boy panted; "you're a gentleman come down. It's harder for you than for me." The tramp glanced at the limping, feeble figure and lessened his pace.
"I haven't been at it as long as you have," he admitted.
"No, I could tell that by the way you walk. You haven't got tired yet. Perhaps you expect something at the other end?"