“You never thought of that, hey, Sammy? But that's what I found myself facing a few years ago. They'd got every cent I had, and I was ready for the scrap heap. But I said, 'Nay, nay, Isabel!' I'd played their game and lost—but I made a new game—and I made my own rules, you can bet!”
“You mean stealing!” cried the boy.
“I mean War,” replied the other. “And you see—I've survived! I'm not pretty to look at and I don't live in a palace, but I'm not starving, and I've got some provisions salted away.”
“But they had you in jail!”
“Of course. I've done my bit—twice. But that didn't kill me; and I can learn things, even in the pen.”
There was a pause. Then Charlie Swift stood up and shook the ashes out of his pipe. “Speaking of provisions,” he said, “these midnight adventures give you an appetite.” And he got out a box of crackers and some cheese and a pot of jam. “Move up,” he said, “and dip in. You'll find that red stuff the real thing. My best girl made it. One of the things that bothered me in jail was the fear that the bulls might get it.”
Samuel was too much excited to eat. But he sat and watched, while his companion stowed away crackers and cheese.
“What am I going to do now?” he said half to himself.
“You come with me,” said Charlie. “I'll teach you a trade where you'll be your own boss. And I'll give you a quarter of the swag until you've learned it.”
“What!” gasped Samuel in horror. “Be a burglar!”