"I bet you thought I was younger."
"Fifteen, I'd have said."
"You'd have backed a loser. Eighteen last August, and I've been on
the road six years. I ran away from home five times when I was a
little 'un, and the police took me back each time. Very good to me,
the police was. Now I haven't got a home to run away from."
"Nor have I," the tramp said calmly.
"Oh, I can see what you are," the boy panted; "you're a gentleman
come down. It's harder for you than for me." The tramp glanced at the
limping, feeble figure and lessened his pace.
"I haven't been at it as long as you have," he admitted.
"No, I could tell that by the way you walk. You haven't got tired
yet. Perhaps you expect something at the other end?"
The tramp reflected for a moment. "I don't know," he said bitterly,
"I'm always expecting things."
"You'll grow out of that;" the boy commented. "It's warmer in London,
but it's harder to come by grub. There isn't much in it really."
"Still, there's the chance of meeting somebody there who will
understand--"
"Country people are better," the boy interrupted. "Last night I took
a lease of a barn for nothing and slept with the cows, and this
morning the farmer routed me out and gave me tea and toke because I
was so little. Of course, I score there; but in London, soup on the
Embankment at night, and all the rest of the time coppers moving you
on."
"I dropped by the roadside last night and slept where I fell.
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