“What are they?”
“Well, the chief one is that I’m an orphan. There isn’t any home waiting for little Willie.” The man shook his head in mock pathos and Fred laughed heartily. “I have consulted specialists,” began the tramp once more, “but I don’t find any one to relieve me. The last man I went to said he thought the best thing he could prescribe would be for me to go out in the country where I could breathe fresh air and not have to endure hard labor.”
“What were you doing, breaking stone?” laughed Fred.
For a moment the tramp glared upon the lad, but a moment later he said good-naturedly, “If I thought you knew what that meant I would give you something to make you remember this visit a long time. No, my great trouble is that I’m too ardent an American. I insist upon seeing my own country. I have been going to and fro, wandering up and down the land—”
“You’re not the only one,” broke in Fred. “It seems to me I’ve heard about another individual who is going about like a roaring lion.”
“Why don’t you come in and sit down,” suggested the tramp, apparently ignoring Fred’s last suggestion. “Ever been in this old house before?”
“Once.”
“When was that?”
“Last night.”
“How long did you stay?”