CHAPTER II.
THE MAN WITH THE COUGH Thad seemed quite agreeable.
"Do you know I've never come in close contact with any tramp," he went on to remark, as they turned their faces toward the patch of trees where the smoke arose, "and I've always wanted to watch just how they managed.

I note that this fellow has a couple of old tomato cans he's picked up on some dump, and they're set over the fire to warm up some coffee, or something he's evidently gotten at a back door.
Perhaps he'll be sociable, and invite us to join him in his afternoon meal.

I guess they eat at any old time, just as the notion seizes them, eh, Hugh ?" "They're a good deal like savages in that respect, I understand," the other told him.

"You know Indians often go a whole day without breaking their fast; but when they do eat they stuff themselves until they nearly burst.

There, he has seen us coming in, for he's shading his eyes with his hand, and taking a good look." "I hope we haven't given him a scare," chuckled Thad, "under the impression that one of us may be the sheriff, or some indignant farmer who's lost some of his chickens lately, and traced them feathers to this camping spot." The hobo, however, did not attempt to run.