"Hi, you fellow, what do you want here?"
I turned, and saw a well-dressed boy of about my own age coming out
of a shrubbery into the walk. I stopped, feeling a certain
awkwardness, and stood before him, looking sheepish enough, no
doubt. He eyed me for a moment; then burst out a-laughing.
"You have no business here; get you gone, fellow," he said, when he
had recovered.
I gulped down the wrath that rose in me, and said quietly:
"I was but on my way to ask if I might do something to earn a meal
and a night's lodging."
He looked at me curiously, perceiving that in mode of speech I was
somewhat different from the low tramp I looked. But youth is often
impatient and hard; my appearance consorted so little with my
tongue that he had much excuse for regarding me as a ne'er-do-well,
the less deserving of pity because he probably owed his plight to
vicious courses.
"There's the poorhouse for tramps, and the lock-up for rascals," he
added. "Be off with you!"
"Pardon me, sir," said I, as quietly as before, "I have eaten
nothing for thirty hours or longer, and if you would but give me
speech with the master of the house, I doubt not he would allow me
milk and bread, for which I would willingly do a turn of work in
the morning."
"D'you hear me, sirrah!" cries the boy. "You're a poacher if the
truth were known. We want no lazy louts here, and if you're not
outside the gates instantly I vow I'll set the dogs on to you.
Pages:
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94