Jasper County Democrat, Volume 21, Number 20, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 June 1918 — Her Tramp [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Her Tramp

By C. B. LEWIS

(Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)

On n hot August afternoon Miss May Burry sat on the long veranda of her father’s house in one of those big willow rocking chairs that man had invented for the comfort of his fellow beings. Partly sheltered by the vines climbing up the lattice work, she was not reading or thinking. On the contrary, site was dozing. She had so nearly fallen into actual sleep that she had begun to dream, when a sudden noise aroused her. It was the click of the gate latch, and a man was walking up the graveled path Toward her. lie was young, but not of the hero type. On the contrary, ln>r first glance convinced her that lie was probably a tramp. lie was making his way around toward the kitchen when she a rose and called ouU: “What do you want?” •“Excuse me, miss, but I want to speak to the cook a moment,” he replied, as he doffed a tattered dtp. “The cook is-out tills afternoon,” she said, He turned around to retrace his steps to the highway. “Is the cook a relative of yours?” she called after hint. “Not exactly, ma’am,” he answered without turning. “Oh, perhaps you wanted a bite to eat?” lie nodded his head. “I think I. can give you a sandwich Ts you will go around to the kitchen door.”. At which disappeared into the house, reappearing a little later at the kitchen door with a liberal sandwich, which she handed to him. lie received It with a shamefaced smile and protest. “Sorry to have disturbed you, but I haven’t had anything to eat since I

pulled a raw turnip at daybreak this morning,” he said. “You are a tramp, aren't you?” she asked, as she stood in the doorway. Directness was one of Miss Barry’s strong points. “I suppose I do fall under that classification,” he admitted. “How was it that you took up the profession so early in life?” she persisted. “I’ve never been able To decide whether'it was misfortune or a love of adventure,” lie said soberly enough, but with a quizzical twinkle in his eyes. “It really don’t matter. At any rate, that was a mighty good sandwich, and I propose to pay for it. Your supply of firewood seems a bit low. I will increase it.” The ax and the woodpile were near and he picked up the former and was soon at work. The girl went back to her seat on the veranda By and by the tramp appeared on his way out and with a lift of his cap walked down to the gate and passed down the hill and out of sight. “Why,” she said to herself, “if he was washed up, had a shave and a hair cut and a business suit on. he would pass for a pretty good-looking young man. I wonder if there is not

some romance connected with his career as a tramp,”* She was still sitting lor the big chair, a quarter of an hour later, when a buggy with three men in it drove up. One she recogrfzed as the constable, another as the tramp who had just left, and the third was a farmer, who lived a couple of miles away. From where she sat she could see, the handcuffs on the wrists of the tramp. The officer jumped down and with a proud air came up the path and suid to her: “You see, I have got him, miss.” “But what has he done?” she asked. “Let me first ask you if he stole anything here?” “Why, no.” ' “Well, he’s a horse thief, anyway. He stole a horse from this farmer last night and he is good for about five years in state prison. I am glad he did not rob your home or sjtare you half to death.” “I don’t believe he stole a horse!” protested the girl, with considerable spirit. "If lie stole the horse, where is the horse?” asked Miss May. “That is what I am going to try and find out after I have landed him in jail, I believe that I have got a straight case against him.” “And I don’t.” And as the officer walked down to the gate, the girl walked with him. The tramp smiled as she approached, and his smile broadened as she asked: “Did you steal a horse last night?”“Lord, miss, you plight as well ask me if I stole the bridge over the river back here.”

The farmer and the constable laughed its they drove off add May returned to the veranda. There she passed up and down for an hour until her father and’ mother came home. When they asked the cause of her perturbation she told them about her tramp. “Well.” said her father, “it’s quite likely the charge is true.” "I don’t believe it,” protested the girl. “He didn’t look like a horse thief.” “How many horse thieves have you seen in your, life?” “Father, see here a moment. If he stole a horse hist night would not he ride him away to some distant point to dispose of him?*’ “Tory likely lie would,” the father replied. “But lie didn’t. lie is right here, within two miles of where the horse was stolen, and he wasn’t in hiding, either. Does that look as if he were a horse thief?” “Well, what is it to us?” asked the father. “It is this much,” replied the girl, with flashing eyes. “Constable Clark has sent men to jail Who were innocent of crime, hut he isn’t going to send this one, if I can help it.” “Oh, he isn’t, eh? What are you going to do about it?” “You are going with me to learn all about the case and help me to show that he didn’t steal a horse, or anything else.”

May had her way, and ten minutes later they drove over to Farmer Johnson’s first to hear his.story. It wasn’t a long story. “Last evening, just as it was getting dark, I caught sight of the fellow sneaking into my barn. As he was not smoking I did not hunt him out. My barn is used as a lodging house by scores of tramps, and they -seldom commit any damage. I know for a surety that this was the only tramp that slept there last night. This morning when I went out to feed the horse the tramp was gone. So was the horse. Don’t that show that some time in the night the tramp took the horse, and rode away on his hack?” “I should hardly say it did,” replied Mr. Barry. “He would have only stolen the horse \o sell to someone. He would have taken the horse miles away before he tried to sell him. Did he do so? The fact that he did not, is shown that the tramp was only three miles away, and on foot when arrested. “Mobbe I have been a little too fast,” said the farmer, as he lifted his hat to scratch the hack of his head. “The constable said I had a good case, but it don’t look like it so much as it did. Hello, there’s the telephone ringing. Let’s see what it’s about?” And a minute later he turned from the instrument and said to his callers:

“By George! But they have found my horse two miles up the road wandering about. He must have slipped his halter in the barn amFeither I or the tramp left the stable door open behind us. AVhew! I guess I have come near making a fool of myself!" Mr. Barry and his daughter drove on to the village and saw and told the constable what they had heard. There was a smile on the tramp’s face as the trio invaded his quarters and he laughed heartily as May cried out: “You never stole the horse. He has been found and you are to be set at liberty. I am so glad!” Mr. Barry was disposed to like the young man on first sight, and went so far as to offer him supper, lodgings and breakfast at his own house, and when the supper -was kindly refused, would have pressed a sum of money upon the wayfarer, who also declined it, saying that all he needed was his liberty. He even forgave the farmer mnd the constable and passed out into the night after three hearty handshakes. For weeks and weeks later there •was talk around the house of “Mayte. Tramp.” and at least one person woiK dered if she would ever see him again. She had decided that she would not, when a well-dressed, good-looking young man rang the bell one day and asked Mrs. Berry, who answered it. if

he could speak to her daughter for a moment. May was called, and as the girl stood before him looking at him In a puzzled way, he smiled and said: “I have not come back for another sandwich nor to cut any more firewood, but I have come to render my thanks for the services you rendered the tramp a month ago. I have kept out of jail ever since!” Who did he turn out to be? Why, James Condon, an enterprising newspaper reporter, of a Chicago daily, who was writing a series of tramp sketches from actual experience. It is now the duty of the reader to bring about the happy match that will end this story to the satisfaction of everybody.

He Was Young.