"I'm sick," the boy whispered--"sick."
The tramp looked up and down the road, but he could see no houses or
any sign of help. Yet even as he supported the boy doubtfully in the
middle of the road a motor car suddenly flashed in the middle
distance, and came smoothly through the snow.
"What's the trouble?" said the driver quietly as he pulled up. "I'm a
doctor." He looked at the boy keenly and listened to his strained
breathing.
"Pneumonia," he commented. "I'll give him a lift to the infirmary,
and you, too, if you like."
The tramp thought of the workhouse and shook his head "I'd rather
walk," he said.
The boy winked faintly as they lifted him into the car.
"I'll meet you beyond Reigate," he murmured to the tramp. "You'll
see." And the car vanished along the white road.
All the morning the tramp splashed through the thawing snow, but at
midday he begged some bread at a cottage door and crept into a lonely
barn to eat it. It was warm in there, and after his meal he fell
asleep among the hay. It was dark when he woke, and started trudging
once more through the slushy roads.
Two miles beyond Reigate a figure, a fragile figure, slipped out of
the darkness to meet him.
"On the road, guv'nor?" said a husky voice. "Then I'll come a bit of
the way with you if you don't walk too fast. It's a bit lonesome
walking this time of day."
"But the pneumonia!" cried the tramp, aghast.
"I died at Crawley this morning," said the boy.
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