To hit a ball just through a hoop,
And say the game—with her—beats golf and polo.
TRUMPS FOR TRAMPS.
(From the Story of a Much-considered Nothing.)
THE Tramp was distinctly one of the Unemployed. He had no money, no friends, no home. He had obtained some work a short while since. The labour, of course, had been unskilled, and then there had come a strike, and the Tramp and his mates had turned out with the rest. The Tramp was a little annoyed, as he had been fairly satisfied to earn bread and butter and meat, and above all, and before all, beer. But the leaders of the strike had satisfied him that it was entirely for his benefit. That as the Tramp could not work up to their standard, it was their duty to work down to his—and yet get paid at the same rate of wages belonging to the higher scale. This seemed to the Tramp pleasant enough. But while he waited, he starved; so he was not sure that the notion of the strike was so excellent after all. But then his brain might have been clearer—it had not been fed (in common with the rest of his body) for several days.
So the Tramp—weary, ragged, and tanned—wandered to the spot where Labour was holding her Congress. The last meeting had been held, and the final squabble settled when he reached his destination. There were a couple of well-fed, healthy-looking men, dressed in good strong broad-cloth, standing outside the meeting-place. They regarded the Tramp with some surprise.
"Surely not a Member?" said the first.
"And of course not a Delegate?" hinted the second.