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But I'd go to work to-morrow, if I had the chance." "Not me," began 'Jolly Joe, as soon as the tall tramp had finished, "I'd sooner be a hobo th'n anythin' else I know. In the first place, I'm not like 'Hatchet Ben, I don't like work an' I don't do any unless I have to, an' then besides, there's more exercise for my talents in this business.
It was not till a penitent and altogether adorable Dorothy had been tucked into bed, and kissed uncounted times, that doubt assailed her. She was moving toward the stairs, when a small voice arrested her steps. "Aunt Peggy," Dorothy said dreamily, "you don't spank as hard as my mamma does. You whipped me just the way Hobo whips himself with his tail."
"You got hair grow on your chin, too? That is fonny thing. Ot'er day I watch the curly-head one scrape his face. He not see me. What for you want scrape your face?" Sam blushed. "Oh, it looks like a hobo if you don't," he stammered. She repeated the word with a comical face. "What is hobo?" "Oh, a tramp, a loafer, a bum." "I on'erstan'," she said. "We got hoboes, too.
I found a drunken hobo at Atlantic City who was the best detective I ever saw." I sat down and tapped the manuscript with my fingers. "It's not here," I said. "Why did you leave it out?" He took a big gold watch out of his pocket and turned it about in his hand. The case was covered with an inscription. "Well, Sir Henry," he said, "the boys in the department think a good deal of me.
It's always struck me as being queer, that, because, say, look at the slick way he rides and ropes! He's never picked that up in five years over on this Side and that's all he claims he's been in Canada." "Besides" chimed in Redmond, eagerly, "that yarn of his about that hobo swiping his dough, Sergeant! 'Frame-up, p'raps, . . . gave it to him and told him to beat it? . . ."
It's up to you to explain or not, just as you like. But anything you tell me will be treated as absolutely confidential, Adams." "All right. Well, everything I done that day went wrong. I caught the hobo tryin' to rob a couple of wimmin over by the Notch. I was takin' him to Stacey when Bob Brewster butted in.
The hobo saw my awakened interest, and he added: "'Did you never notice a man carryin' a heavy load? He kind of totters, walkin' with his feet apart to keep his balance. That makes his foot tracks side by side like, instead of one before the other as he makes them when he's goin' light." Walker interrupted his narrative with a comment: "It's the truth.
Having been unceremoniously plucked from his precarious perch, the dispossessed hobo, finding himself stranded in a desert town where the streets are not electrically lighted, follows the dumb dictates of his stomach and the trend of his abnormal ambition, and promptly "turns a trick." Occasionally there is an objection on the part of the "trickee" and somebody gets killed.
The whistle tooted fast and furiously, and the train thundered at top speed. The hobo didn't live that could have boarded it.
What she did was prompted by a generous heart. She couldn't care for me, Billy. Her father is a wealthy man he could have the pick of the land of many lands if she cared to marry. You don't think for a minute she'd want a hobo, do you?" "You can't most always tell," replied Billy, a trifle sadly. "I knew such a queen once who would have chosen a mucker, if he'd a-let her.
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