"Why Didn't Yer Ride Wid De Guy?" I Replied
As Before, "Because I Prefer To Walk;" Adding For His Benefit, "I've No
Use For Autos." Whereupon He Threw Back His Head And Burst Into Peal
After Peal Of Such Hearty Laughter That, From Pure Contagion, I Perforce
Joined In The Chorus.
In the days of Fielding and Sam Johnson, this
fellow would have been dubbed "a lusty vagabond;" in the slangy parlance
of today, he was a "husky hobo," equipped as such, even to the tin can
of the comic journals.
To him, the humor of a brother tramp refusing a
ride - in an autocar, at that - appealed with irresistible force.
To walk in the middle of the road is characteristic of the genuine
tramp. There must be some occult reason for this peculiarity, since in a
general way, it is far easier going on the margin. Perhaps it is because
he commands a better view of either side, with a regard to the possible
onslaught of dogs. There is something about a man with a pack on his
back that infuriates the average dog, as I have on several occasions
found to my annoyance. Robert Louis Stevenson, in his whimsical and
altogether delightful "Travels with a Donkey," thus vents his opinion
anent the dog question:
"I was much disturbed by the barking of a dog, an animal that I fear
more than any wolf. A dog is vastly braver and is, besides, supported by
a sense of duty. If you kill a wolf you meet with encouragement and
praise, but if you kill a dog, the sacred rights of property and the
domestic affections come clamoring around you for redress.
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