sometime. I've always longed for the free life of a tramp;

and if you'll let me go along with you for a little while,

and teach me, I'll not bother you; and I'll do whatever

you say."

The elderly person frowned. "Beat it, kid!" he com-

manded. "We ain't runnin' no day nursery. These you

see here is all the real thing. Maybe we asks fer a hand-

out now and then; but that ain't our reg'lar lay. You

ain't swift enough to travel with this bunch, kid, so

you'd better duck. Why we gents, here, if we was added

up is wanted in about twenty-seven cities fer about ev-

erything from rollin' a souse to crackin' a box and

croakin' a bull. You gotta do something before you can

train wid gents like us, see?" The speaker projected a

stubbled jaw, scowled horridly and swept a flattened

palm downward and backward at a right angle to a

hairy arm in eloquent gesture of finality.

The boy had stood with his straight, black eyebrows

puckered into a studious frown, drinking in every word.

Now he straightened up. "I guess I made a mistake," he

said, apologetically. "You ain't tramps at all. You're

thieves and murderers and things like that." His eyes

opened a bit wider and his voice sank to a whisper as

the words passed his lips. "But you haven't so much on

me, at that," he went on, "for I'm a regular burglar,

too," and from the bulging pockets of his coat he drew

two handfuls of greenbacks and jewelry. The eyes of

the six registered astonishment, mixed with craft and

greed. "I just robbed a house in Oakdale," explained the

boy. "I usually rob one every night."