Show THE TALE OF A TOURIST I Ho Ylsiint So Very Iirtlcul I but U < II ul In Uiiw tliu Une I Hive ou anything to give n poor earn miimf I The voice was that of a wan haggard and I dilapidated mendicant Hat in hand with bowed head and humble mien he stood in the presence of the young housewife The wind blew through his scanty unkempt hair and his toes looked mournfully out through the embrasures in his shoes in a weird grew some way that would have drawn a sigh of sympathy from a wax figure of Jessie James or melted the heart of a bridge tender Have you walked far this morning she asked askedYes Yes mum replied tho Jaded pilgrim 1 have hoofed it for about ten or elevei mileAre Are you hungry Powerful gaunt in tho stomach like The tender hearted young woman meditated meditat-ed a few moments I have nothing but a soup bone and some cold tripe to offer you she said but you are welcome to them The tourist shook his head sadly Bilged to you mum he responded in n hollow voice but Im a vegetarian Haint got no ham and eggs I reckon I J am sony to say have not But stay I she exclaimed as tho forlorn applicant for charity turned to go Wouldnt you like something m the way of clothing my poor alan f monfYesm Yesm he replied gratefully If youve got any old clothes about the house Id be glad to get em With a light step and a heart full of happiness happi-ness at the prospect of being able to do good to a suffering fellow creature she left him and returned presently with a small bundle Hero is a garment 1 heard my husband say ho should not wear again said the young wife It is perfectly clean and just as good as now May I ask what it is mum It is a flannel shirt Been washed I Oh certainly three or four times The battered tramp jammed his hat on his head and went slowly down the steps Madam he said with a hopeless just os1 expected intonation in his rich southwestern south-western Missouri voice that is tho SC4tb flannel shirt thats bee stuck at me since I left Fast St Louis and Ivo got a pocket full of om As tho hot sun came out from behind a cloud and beamed down pitilessly on the dusty highway the weary wanderer took from his bundle a jagged hunk of tobacco looked at it in a hesitating and uncertain way put it in his pocket and started across the street lu the direction of a house from which there seemed to emanate as it n ere a suggestion of fried pork Chicago Tribune |