The boy gave expression to a
violent obscenity directed upon the vanished man. When that individual
emerged again, he handed the grizzled man a box of ointment and tossed a
packet of tobacco to the evil-faced boy. Both were quick with their
thanks. That which they had most needed and desired had been, as it
were, spontaneously provided. But the elder of the wayfarers was
puzzled, and looked from the salve-box to its giver.
"How'd you know my feet was blistered?"
"Been padding in the rain, haven't you?"
"Have you been on the hoof, too?" asked the hobo quickly.
The other smiled.
"Say!" exclaimed the boy. "I bet he's Banneker. Are you?" he demanded.
"That's my name."
"I heard of you three years ago when you was down on the Long Line
Sandy," said the man. He paused and considered. "What's your lay, Mr.
Banneker?" he asked, curiously but respectfully.
"As you see it. Railroading."
"A gay-cat," put in the boy with a touch of scorn.
"You hold your fresh lip," his elder rebuked him. "This gent has treated
us _like_ a gent. But why? What's the idea? That's what I don't get."
"Oh, some day I might want to run for Governor on the hobo ticket,"
returned the unsmiling agent.
"You get our votes. Well, so long and much obliged.
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