Tramping on Life

Tramping on Life

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tramping on Life, by Harry Kemp
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Tramping on Life An Autobiographical Narrative
Author: Harry Kemp
Release Date: March 19, 2005 [EBook #15415]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
TRAMPING ON LIFE ***

Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Martin Pettit and the PG Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at www.pgdp.net.

[Illustration: THE AUTHOR OF _Tramping on Life_]

TRAMPING ON LIFE
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NARRATIVE
HARRY KEMP
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
GARDEN CITY PUBLISHING COMPANY, Inc.
_Copyright, 1922, by_
BONI AND LIVERIGHT, INC.

First Printing, September, 1922
Second Printing, November, 1922
Third Printing, January, 1923
Fourth Printing, April, 1923
Fifth Printing, July, 1923
Sixth Printing, September, 1923
Seventh Printing, November, 1923
Eighth Printing, May, 1924
Ninth Printing, November, 1924
Tenth Printing, July, 1925
Eleventh Printing, March, 1926
Twelfth Printing, February, 1927

Printed in the United States of America

All in this book that is good and enduring and worth while for
humanity, I dedicate to the memory of my wife,
MARY PYNE
_Waterbury, Connecticut, May 20, 1922._

TRAMPING ON LIFE
Now I am writing these things just as I was told them by my
grandmother. For I have utterly no remembrance of my mother.
Consumption ran in her family. And bearing and giving birth to me
woke the inherited weakness in her. She was not even strong enough to
suckle me.
* * * * *
I was born in the early eighties, in Mornington, Ohio, in a section of
that great, steel-manufacturing city which was neither city, suburb, nor
country,--but a muddy, green-splashed, murky mixture of all three.
* * * * *
They told me, when I was old enough to understand, that my mother
was English, that her folks lived in Cleveland and owned a millinery
and drygoods store there ... and that my father met my mother one day
in Mornington. She was visiting an uncle who ran a candy store on
Main Street, and, she girl-like, laughed and stood behind the counter,

ready for a flirtation....
My father was young, too. And he was employed there in the store,
apprenticed to the candy-maker's trade. And, on this day, as he passed
through, carrying a trayful of fresh-dipped chocolates, he winked at my
mother and joked with her in an impudent way ... and she rebuffed him,
not really meaning a rebuff, of course ... and he startled her by pulling
off his hat and grotesquely showing himself to be entirely bald ... for he
had grown bald very young--at the age of sixteen ... both because of
scarlet fever, and because baldness for the men ran in his family ... and
he was tall, and dark, and walked with rather a military carriage.
* * * * *
I was four years old when my mother died.
When she fell sick, they tell me, my grandfather did one of the few
decent acts of his life--he let my father have a farm he owned in central
Kansas, near Hutchinson. But my father did not try to work it.
He was possessed of neither the capital nor knowledge necessary for
farming.
He went to work as clerk in a local hotel, in the rapidly growing town.
Crazy with grief, he watched my mother drop out of his life a little
more each day.
* * * * *
My father and mother both had tempers that flared up and sank as
suddenly.
* * * * *
I had lung fever when I was a baby. That was what they called it then. I
nearly died of it. It left me very frail in body.
* * * * *
As soon as I could walk and talk my mother made a great companion of
me. She didn't treat me as if I were only a child. She treated me like a
grown-up companion. I am told that I would follow her about the house
from room to room, clutching at her skirts, while she was dusting and
sweeping and working. And to hear us two talking with each other, you
would have imagined there was a houseful of people.
* * * * *
My father's anguish over my mother's death caused him to break loose
from all ties. His grief goaded him so that he went about aimlessly. He
roamed from state to state, haunted by her memory. He worked at all

sorts of jobs. Once he even dug ditches for seventy-five cents a day.