"I haven't seen you since last June, Dick, have I?"
"I've been on tramp."
"What do you go on tramp for?"
"Because I must when the summer comes. I can't stay in town—I take the fiddle and sling a hand-bag over my shoulders and go off."
"Where do you go?"
"Anywhere. First by train twenty miles or so out of London, and then plunge into the country at random."
"You tramp along the road. And then?"
"Well—you see—the real point is that I take no money with me—only enough for the first day or two—five shillings or so. The fiddle pays my way. I play for bed and supper in a roadside inn. The people of the village come to hear; sometimes I play and sing; sometimes I play for them to dance; then I collect the coppers; next day I go on."
"It sounds delightful for your audience. For me, listening to you is sufficient; as for the rest——"
"It's more delightful than you can believe. Why, I know all the gipsies and their language; sometimes I camp with them. And I know most of the tramps. Some excellent fellows among the tramps. And there's no dress-coat and no dinner-parties."