And these were the words of his song--at least, all I can remember of them: Oh, I'm so fine and gay, I'm so fine and gay, I have to take a dog along, To kape the ga-irls away.
What droll zest he put into it! He had a red nose, a globular red nose set on his face like an overgrown strawberry, and from under the worst derby hat in the world burst his thick curly hair.
"Oh, I'm so fine and gay," he sang, stepping to the rhythm of his song, and looking the very image of good-humoured impudence.

I can't tell how amused and pleased I was--though if I had known what was to happen later I might not have been quite so friendly--yes, I would too! We fell into conversation, and it wasn't long before I suggested that we stop for luncheon together somewhere along the road.

He cast a quick appraising eye at my bag, and assented with alacrity.

We climbed a fence and found a quiet spot near a little brook.
I was much astonished to observe the resources of my jovial companion.
Although he carried neither bag nor pack and appeared to have nothing whatever in his pockets, he proceeded, like a professional prestidigitator, to produce from his shabby clothing an extraordinary number of curious things--a black tin can with a wire handle, a small box of matches, a soiled package which I soon learned contained tea, a miraculously big dry sausage wrapped in an old newspaper, and a clasp-knife.

I watched him with breathless interest.
He cut a couple of crotched sticks to hang the pail on and in two or three minutes had a little fire, no larger than a man's hand, burning brightly under it.