“Of the morrow we take no heed, no care infests the day; Some hand-out gump and a train to jump, a grip on the rods, and away! To the game of grab for gold we give no thought or care. We own with you the arch of blue--our share of God's fresh air. One coin to clear the law, a section of rubber hose. To soften the chafe of a freight-car's truss, our portion of cast-off clothes, And the big wide world is ours--a title made good by right-- By mankind's deed to the nomad breed with the taint of the Ishmaelite. Some from the wastes of the sage-brush, some from the orange land, Some from God's own country, dusty and tattered and tanned. Why are we? It's idle to tell you--you'd never understand. To and fro We come and go. Old Father Ishmael's band.” He leaned back and laughed in the tramp's puzzled face. “Well, what's the answer?” scoffed Boston Fat. The other man talked on, humor in his eyes, plainly enjoying this verbal skylarking. “I'm afraid I cannot waste time and breath on you in an attempt to answer the riddle of the ages, to explain the wanderlust that sent forth the tribes from the Aryan bowl of the birth of the races, my corpulent bean-pot. Your blank eyes and your flattened skull suggest a discouraging incapacity for information.” “I don't know what you're gabbing abut. But there's one thing I do know. I'll tip 'em off at the next insane-asylum I come to that I met you headed north.” The tramp gathered the articles of clothing from the bushes and got down on his knees and began to fold them. The man of the brown eyes stepped forward, laid down his little book, picked up the frock-coat and pulled it on, the fat man squealing expostulation. With serene disregard of this protest Farr buttoned the coat, smoothed it down, and then straightened his shoulders. “You may see that it was built for a gentleman and that it fits a gentleman, friend pork-barrel.” “You shuck it off and pass it over, that's what you do,” yelped the tramp. “It's my coat.” “It was perfectly apparent that it was not your coat when you tried it on.” “I tell you I found it hanging on a fence-post just above here.” “That was merely by accident, and you should have passed on and left the garments for one whose frame was fitted to wear them. You illustrate the curse of modern society. Men are so filled with the greed of getting that they grab misfits simply out of passion for possessing.” “I've stood your slurs ever since I got here, but I'll be jobeefed if I'll stand for your swiping my property.” The man of the brown eyes smiled. His whole demeanor showed that he was more than ever hugely enjoying his own verbosity--the florid language which was both maddening and mystifying the tramp.