This was all not quite so lucid as Greek to Ben, who judiciously replied in monosyllables, as he devoured the food. On leaving, their kind hostess presented them with a large package of bread and ham.
When they regained the track, Tommy explained that he had given the good lady "quite a racket." The "racket" proved to be a pathetic tale of shipwreck in which the two tramps had taken a prominent part, having recently landed destitute in New York City, from thence they were making their way on foot to their homes in Baltimore. While Ben could not indorse the moral laxity embraced in the "racket," he nevertheless admired the milk and apple sauce. The bread and ham made them a hearty supper that afternoon, when they had taken to the seclusion of a small grove near the tank and side track. After their repast, Ben was about to remove his boots; for his feet were tired and badly chafed. Tommy advised him not to, stating that it would be better to let his feet "get used to it," and that they would "harden quicker" by allowing his boots to remain on. He took them off, though, and both lay down for a nap to strengthen them for the night's work.
They were soon asleep. Our hero dreamed of New Orleans and its glories. Of bread and milk, a motherly woman and a gruff man. Of gates that would not open, pull them ever so hard; and doors that he battered his knuckles to pieces on without there being a response. But most he dreamed of a pair of great, glorious, grey eyes, that, indeed, had occupied his reflections the major portion of the day.
If Tommy's face indicated the thoughts passing through his mind, his dreams were far from pleasant. He gritted his teeth, and clenched his hands, and muttered hoarsely as he tossed about. Gradually he rolled over on to Ben's outstretched arm. And the arm unconsciously closed around him and drew him to Ben's bosom, on which pillowing his head, the boy slept soundly.
CHAPTER VI.
UNDER THE CYCLOPEAN EYE.
Ben had just knocked at a back door and a man was threatening to set the dogs on him if he did not take himself off, and he was in the midst of eloquent protest, that he was no tramp and was not doing this thing from necessity, when Tommy awoke him, and he started up with his protest but half uttered, to find the night air quite chilly, and countless stars in the coverlet of Earth winking and blinking at him in a most familiar manner.
"Get up," said Tommy. "It is ten o'clock! If you sleep that way much longer you will talk yourself to death."
"Have I been talking in my sleep?" he asked sitting up with a yawn.
"I should say so, indeed," replied Tom. "I've been listening to you for the past half an hour." He did not further state that during the half hour he had bent, like a timid girl, over Ben and kissed him on cheek and forehead—but not on the lips. But such was the fact.