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Updated: June 5, 2025
Never heard of anything to beat it; and we'll make the hair rise up in this community like bristles on a dog. Go ahead with it. The tramp's waiting and I am paying him time." "Sit down," said Lyman. Warren did so reluctantly. Lyman put his hand on the young man's shoulder.
Be as uncomfortable or as cross about it as you choose, an out-of-door study is sure to prove your best friend. You become a species of literary tramp, and absorb something of the tramp's hygiene. It is impossible to be "cooped" at your desk, if you have to cross a garden or a lawn thirty times a day to get to it.
Graham has given us in this robust book a classic of educated yet wild vagabondage." ACADEMY. "To have read A Tramp's Sketches is to have been lifted into a higher and rarer atmosphere.... A book that, if we mistake not, is destined to endure."
Later that evening, Sundown straggled out to the corral and stood watching the saddle-stock of the Concho pull hay from the long feed-rack and munch lazily. Suddenly he jerked up his hand and jumped round. The men, loafing in front of the bunk-house, laughed. Chance, the great wolf-dog, was critically inspecting the tramp's legs. Sundown was a self-confessed coward, physically.
And you're Victory, I reckon?" "Victoria." "Exactly. Sister to Rance Vane. I know'd that chap onct, and I found him not a man, but a scamp. I never liked the Vanes, father'n son. The old man's dead, I s'pose?" "Yes." "How long sense?" "More than a year." "Good 'nough. He wa'nt o' much account." The tramp's eyes seemed to become suddenly bloodshot. He shoved from the table, and rose to his feet.
As he spoke Billy Byrne broke into a run, and as the stick fell he reached the man's side and swung a blow to the tramp's jaw that sent the fellow spinning backward to the river's brim, where he tottered drunkenly for a moment and then plunged backward into the shallow water. Then Billy seized the other attacker by the shoulder and dragged him to his feet.
"That'll do!" cried Tom, and, thrusting the electric torch into his own pocket, he clasped the tramp's arms from behind. Then the battle was practically over, for the two lads could easily handle the man, whose breath was nearly spent from his running. "Do you give up?" asked Tom, still holding the man's elbows. "I s'pose I've got to," was the half-growled answer. "You've got me cornered."
He now led us through a wood on to some fields down to a shady dell, where we were to hold the feast in privacy. He did not descend it himself. Vexatious as it was to see a tramp's tent there, we nevertheless acknowledged the respectful greeting of the women and the man with a few questions about tentpegs, pots, and tin mugs.
It was arranged that Sam should accompany and they set off immediately, while Dick and Joel Darrel ran along the river bank to where the rowboat had been abandoned. Down where it was muddy it was easy to trace the tramp's footprints, and they led through a meadow and across a cornfield, coming out at a side road leading to the town of Oak Run.
He may not want to keep a tramp's boarding-house," she added, quietly. "Father will be sure to think as I do," reiterated Bernardine. "He has a rough exterior, but the kindest of hearts beats in his rugged bosom." "You are right there, Bernardine," said David Moore, pushing open an inner door and coming forward. "I could not help overhearing all that passed between you two.
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