Why, I
spent half my life here, Petie!"
"Oh, I've read somewhere about that,--the way great men feel when they
visit their native town."
The short tramp took a clay pipe from his coat pocket and stuffed into it a
cigar-end fished from another pocket. Then he inquired:
"And now you're here, Billy, what are you go'n to do?"
"Only ask around what's become o' my folks, then go away. It won't take me
long."
"There'll be a through coal-train along in about an hour, 'cordin' to what
the flagmen told us at that last town. Will you be back in time to bounce
that?"
"Yes. We needn't stay here. There's little to be picked up in a place like
this."
"Then skin along and make your investigations. I'll sit here and smoke till
you come back. If you could pinch a bit of bread and meat, by the way, it
wouldn't hurt."
"I'll try," answered the tall tramp. "I'm goin' to ask the kids yonder,
first, if any o' my people still live here."
The tall tramp strode over to the two boys. His companion shambled down the
embankment to obtain, at the turntable near the locomotive shed across the
railroad, a red-hot cinder with which to light his pipe.
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