It was a lovely August morning when I rode across the sandy
peninsula to visit a certain noted family, whereof all the sons
were valiant and the daughters beautiful. The front of the house
was deserted, but on the rear veranda I heard the rustle of gowns,
and above it arose what seemed to be the voice of Ulysses, reciting
his wanderings. There was no mistaking that voice, it was my
friend, the Tramp!
From what I could hastily gather from his speech, he had walked
from St. John, N. B., to rejoin a distressed wife in New York, who
was, however, living with opulent but objectionable relatives.
"An' shure, miss, I wouldn't be askin' ye the loan of a cint if I
could get worruk at me trade of carpet-wavin'--and maybe ye know of
some mannfacthory where they wave carpets beyant here. Ah, miss,
and if ye don't give me a cint, it's enough for the loikes of me to
know that me troubles has brought the tears in the most beautiful
oiyes in the wurruld, and God bless ye for it, miss!"
Now I knew that the Most Beautiful Eyes in the World belonged to
one of the most sympathetic and tenderest hearts in the world, and
I felt that common justice demanded my interference between it and
one of the biggest scamps in the world.
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