In a district inhospitable to tramps I obtained my dinner by paying for it. In this way and by these words:
"Can you give me a meal for a quarter?"
"Well, if you've got the coin I reckon we can do that."
I was sitting at a meal of canned beef, beans, and red-currant jelly, sipping from a mug of coffee, in which might possibly be discerned the influence of a spoonful of milk. The farmer was cross-examining me on my business—where had I come from? Was I looking for a job? Was I walking for wager?—when a strange figure appeared at the window, a broad-faced, long-haired, long-bearded tramp in a tattered cloak.
He approached the house, and about ten feet from the window where we were sitting he stood stock-still, leaning on his staff and staring at us.
"A hobo—looks a bit fierce," said the farmer, opening the window. "How do? Wha—yer—want?"
"THE CREAM-VANS COME TO BUY UP ALL THE CREAM."