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Updated: July 8, 2025
"That dog would be an ugly customer in a fight," remarked Graham casually, not averse to teasing a barking dog as well as a screaming girl. He caught Ruth by the arm as she edged away, and tickled her again. Ruth's responsive shriek was ear-splitting. Hobo's head disappeared from the window. The dog ran back, crouching for a spring.
She had thrown a long, rough cape about her, but it had fallen open, leaving visible the black gown and a spot he knew to be a red rose on her breast. He stood looking down, and she smiled up. "Cara!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here alone?" "Seeking freedom," she responded calmly. "It's not so good as the hobo's fire beside the track, but it's better than four walls.
I took her in my arms and made much of her, and asked her why she was crying, and she said she was crying because she was glad. When the doctor had returned to Stepping-Stone, he got the Hobo's captain on the telephone and told him from me to bring the Hobo back to Idle Island at once.
"You'll find a spring under the live-oaks by the third cross-fence north. Reckon you'll get there about noon. Keep your eye peeled for fire. I thought I seen somebody up there as I come across from the corral early this mornin'. We come close to burnin' out here once, account of a hobo's fire. Understand, if you ketch anybody cantelopin' around a-foot, you just ride 'em off the range pronto.
I sure do wish I had of let well enough alone! But no, I had to go get gay with myself and try and beat a sure thing." Johnny was gazing reverently upon the pilot's license which he held in his hand, and he did not hear the last two or three sentences of the hobo's lament. He was busy breaking one of the ten commandments; the one which says, "Thou shalt not covet."
At this second a clerk standing at the bar of a New York saloon stopped milling his secret fear of his nagging office-manager long enough to growl at the chauffeur beside him, "Aw, you socialists make me sick! I'm an individualist. I ain't going to be nagged by no bureaus and take orders off labor-leaders. And mean to say a hobo's as good as you and me?"
Hand me the pistol, please." I gave it to him, and he shoved it under the hobo's nose. "Now," he said, "take off that rag around your neck." The rag was an old red handkerchief, inconceivably soiled. The tramp removed it, grumbling and whining. Mifflin gave me the pistol to hold while he tied our prisoner's wrists together. In the meantime we heard a shout from the quarry.
"Thirty days," said his Honor, and called another hobo's name. Said hobo got up. "Vagrancy, your Honor," said the bailiff, and his Honor said, "Thirty days." And so it went, fifteen seconds and thirty days to each hobo. The machine of justice was grinding smoothly. Most likely, considering how early it was in the morning, his Honor had not yet had his breakfast and was in a hurry.
"O-ho, I thought you was broke!" He opened the purse with great deliberation, laying bare a great sheaf of bills, and as his wife and daughter came hurrying down the steps he counted the hobo's hoard. "Over eight hundred dollars," he announced with ominous calm. "Some roll, when a man is bumming his meals and can't even stop to say thanks " "He's coming back for it," broke in his wife anxiously.
"It was not the creature's plea that moved me, nor his pretended deductions; I'm a bit old to be soft. It was the 'banker man' sticking like a bur in the hobo's talk. I wanted to keep him in sight until I understood where he got it. No doubt that seems a slight reason for going out to the Inlet with the creature; but you must remember that slight things are often big signboards in our business."
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