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"You are not offended, I hope," said he. "This is a sad old world, you know, and
we're all looking for amusement. If a guy has no money to buy it with, he has to
manufacture it."
"
Sure, I ain't sore," Billy assured him. "Say, spiel that part again 'bout Penelope
with the kisses on her mouth, an' you can kid me till the cows come home."
The camper by the creek did as Billy asked him, while the latter sat with his eyes
upon the fire seeing in the sputtering little flames the oval face of her who was
Penelope to him.
When the verse was completed he reached forth his hand and took the tin can in
his strong fingers, raising it before his face.
"Here's to--to his Knibbs!" he said, and drank, passing the battered thing over to
his new friend.
"
Yes," said the other; "here's to his Knibbs, and--Penelope!"
Drink hearty," returned Billy Byrne.
"
The poetical one drew a sack of tobacco from his hip pocket and a rumpled
package of papers from the pocket of his shirt, extending both toward Billy.
"
Want the makings?" he asked.
"
I ain't stuck on sponging," said Billy; "but maybe I can get even some day, and I
sure do want a smoke. You see I was frisked. I ain't got nothin'--they didn't leave
me a sou markee."
Billy reached across one end of the fire for the tobacco and cigarette papers. As
he did so the movement bared his wrist, and as the firelight fell upon it the marks
of the steel bracelet showed vividly. In the fall from the train the metal had bitten
into the flesh.
His companion's eyes happened to fall upon the telltale mark. There was an
almost imperceptible raising of the man's eyebrows; but he said nothing to
indicate that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary.
The two smoked on for many minutes without indulging in conversation. The
camper quoted snatches from Service and Kipling, then he came back to Knibbs,
who was evidently his favorite. Billy listened and thought.
"
Goin' anywheres in particular?" he asked during a momentary lull in the
recitation.
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