The Return of the Mucker | Page 8

effort, as unruffled and
unconcerned, apparently, as though naught had occurred to disturb his
peaceful solitude.
"Sit down," he said after a moment, looking up at Billy, "and have a

bite to eat with me. Take that leather easy chair. The Louis Quatorze is
too small and spindle-legged for comfort." He waved his hand
invitingly toward the sward beside the fire.
For a moment he was entirely absorbed in the roasting fowl impaled
upon a sharp stick which he held in his right hand. Then he presently
broke again into verse.
Around the world and back again; we saw it all. The mist and rain
In England and the hot old plain from Needles to Berdoo. We kept
a-rambling all the time. I rustled grub, he rustled rhyme--
Blind-baggage, hoof it, ride or climb--we always put it through.
"You're a good sort," he broke off, suddenly. "There ain't many boes
that would have done as much for a fellow."
"It was two against one," replied Billy, "an' I don't like them odds.
Besides I like your poetry. Where d'ye get it-- make it up?"
"Lord, no," laughed the other. "If I could do that I wouldn't be
pan-handling. A guy by the name of Henry Herbert Knibbs did them.
Great, ain't they?"
"They sure is. They get me right where I live," and then, after a pause;
"sure you got enough fer two, bo?"
"I have enough for you, old top," replied the host, "even if I only had
half as much as I have. Here, take first crack at the ambrosia. Sorry I
have but a single cup; but James has broken the others. James is very
careless. Sometimes I almost feel that I shall have to let him go."
"Who's James?" asked Billy.
"James? Oh, James is my man," replied the other.
Billy looked up at his companion quizzically, then he tasted the dark,
thick concoction in the tin can.

"This is coffee," he announced. "I thought you said it was ambrose."
"I only wished to see if you would recognize it, my friend," replied the
poetical one politely. "I am highly complimented that you can guess
what it is from its taste."
For several minutes the two ate in silence, passing the tin can back and
forth, and slicing--hacking would be more nearly correct--pieces of
meat from the half-roasted fowl. It was Billy who broke the silence.
"I think," said he, "that you been stringin' me--'bout James and
ambrose."
The other laughed good-naturedly.
"You are not offended, I hope," said he. "This is a sad old world, you
know, and we're all looking for amusement. If a guy has no money to
buy it with, he has to manufacture it."
"Sure, I ain't sore," Billy assured him. "Say, spiel that part again 'bout
Penelope with the kisses on her mouth, an' you can kid me till the cows
come home."
The camper by the creek did as Billy asked him, while the latter sat
with his eyes upon the fire seeing in the sputtering little flames the oval
face of her who was Penelope to him.
When the verse was completed he reached forth his hand and took the
tin can in his strong fingers, raising it before his face.
"Here's to--to his Knibbs!" he said, and drank, passing the battered
thing over to his new friend.
"Yes," said the other; "here's to his Knibbs, and-- Penelope!"
"Drink hearty," returned Billy Byrne.
The poetical one drew a sack of tobacco from his hip pocket and a
rumpled package of papers from the pocket of his shirt, extending both

toward Billy.
"Want the makings?" he asked.
"I ain't stuck on sponging," said Billy; "but maybe I can get even some
day, and I sure do want a smoke. You see I was frisked. I ain't got
nothin'--they didn't leave me a sou markee."
Billy reached across one end of the fire for the tobacco and cigarette
papers. As he did so the movement bared his wrist, and as the firelight
fell upon it the marks of the steel bracelet showed vividly. In the fall
from the train the metal had bitten into the flesh.
His companion's eyes happened to fall upon the telltale mark. There
was an almost imperceptible raising of the man's eyebrows; but he said
nothing to indicate that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary.
The two smoked on for many minutes without indulging in
conversation. The camper quoted snatches from Service and Kipling,
then he came back to Knibbs, who was evidently his favorite. Billy
listened and thought.
"Goin' anywheres in particular?" he asked during a momentary lull in
the recitation.
"Oh, south or west," replied the other. "Nowhere in particular--any
place suits me just so it isn't north or east."
"That's me," said Billy.
"Let's