“Oh, no, not the slightest,” said Fred glibly. “I was just wondering how a man as weary as you are could have made such good time. You must have come forty miles or more. How did you do it?”
“Part of the way,” replied the tramp, “I came in an empty box-car. I got a lift with an old man who was taking a load of produce to market and another man gave me a ride in his automobile. I don’t think I have walked all together more than half a mile. There’s always somebody that is good to the halt, the blind, the lame,—”
“And the lazy,” joined in Fred.
“I guess that’s right,” said the tramp. “But I’m not to blame for it. I don’t like to work. It’s the way I was born, and if I don’t like it I don’t see why I should do it, do you?”
“Not as long as some one else is willing to work and get you something to eat and wear,” suggested George tartly.
“I guess you’re right again,” drawled the tramp. “If the time ever comes when there isn’t anybody to do that for me, then I guess I’ll have to go to work. But I’m putting it off as long as possible. Hello,” he added quickly, “there comes a car,” pointing as he spoke toward an automobile which was swiftly approaching.
George ran speedily down to the road and hailed the approaching car.
The automobile was stopped as the signal was discovered, and for the first time George was conscious of his dust-discolored face, for seated in the back seat was a young girl with her mother. She laughed as she saw George’s countenance and even her mother’s face could not conceal the quizzical expression that appeared when George spoke.
“We had a blowout here,” explained George, “and when we tried to put on a new tube our jack broke. Can you help us out?”
“Certainly,” said the woman. “James, you help these young gentlemen,” she added as she turned to her chauffeur.