Argosy All-Story Weekly, April 14, 1928 — page 12: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

150 of my own without playing good Sa- maritan to hoboes.”’ “There you are,’ said the tramp. * You got troubles. I got none. Prob- ably you’re going home to a wife who will bawl you out and hand you a lot of bills for sable coats and diamond tiaras. I haven’t got anything to wor- ry me.” “(’m not married,” replied Lester, “so that’s a bad guess. And I’m not in the sables and diamonds class any- way. But I have plenty to worry me.” He sat on the bench a couple of feet from Mr. Downing, which was close enough, considering. “There you are,” said the tramp, who hurled his banana peel at a squirrel which had just poked his head around a tree trunk. “ You got worries.” “Lost my job,” admitted Lester. The tramp looked sapient. “ The world is made up of people that slave at desks, shut up indoors eight hours a day, for enough to meet their rent, and give them a suit of clothes and some- thing to eat. “Mister, I’m sixty-two years old, and I ain’t done a bit of work for twenty-five years. I wouldn’t know what a five-dollar bill looks like, but I always manage to get something to eat, and [ been pinched for a lot of things but never for going around naked. Which of us has got the most sense?” “T bet you've spent a lot of those twenty-five years in jail.” Mr. Downing nodded assent. “ Sure. Jail is all right. They give you food and clothes, and you don’t have much to do. I always get myself sent up when the cold weather comes.” “You don’t mean it.” “ You bet Ido. The jails are steam- heated, the food is getting better all the time, they have concerts and motion picture shows. Too much bathing; that’s all I kick about.” “You're a queer old _ rooster. Haven’t you any self-respect?” de- manded the young man. “Just as much as you got, feller. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. Here's the idea. People work because they're afraid they'll starve to death, and if nobody worked that would hap- pen all right. If everybody was a mil- lionaire and nobody worked because they had so much money, the world would starve to death just the same. “ But so long as only a few of us are tramps, you working classes sup- port us. Nobody ever starves to death unless they are so foolish they don’t let on they are broke. Society takes care of us bums a lot better than it does most of the busy bees.” Lester gazed at him in mingled amusement and admiration. ‘“‘ Upon my word, old man, there is a lot in what you say. If you don’t care about good clothes and French cooking; if you don’t want a wife and children, and you're not ashamed to admit that you are a hobo, the world presents you a living of a sort.” “"That’s it. Look at all these people around here. Look at you. All scram- bling for a skinny living and trying to save a few dollars to keep out of the poorhouse. “What's the matter with the poor- house? Pretty good food, a clean bed, a home for the rest of your life, and no work to do. In another four or five years [’ll apply for admission into some poorhouse, and end my days in com- fort.” “You ought to be ashamed of your- self. You talk like a man who had some education.” “Young feller,” said the ancient, “ I was a college graduate in the days when only rich men’s sons went to college. I started in life at the top of the ladder. IT went in the only way a man in my position could go, downward.” He smiled contentedly as he spoke, and Lester regarded him curiously. “But you must have something to regret. A man with your chances can- not possibly be satisfied to die a tramp.” “ Years ago I used to get sore at the world, but not no more. [’m the only person in this city of New York to- EOPMICLOOKS (E@