Part 42 (1/2)

”Clerk nothing! Don't you think I know a superintendent when I see one?

Out with those yellowbacks you drew yesterday, or by gum--” The pistol was again thrust under his nose, and Elder blanched.

”But I'm not the superintendent! Honestly I'm not!” he protested. ”I'm only a clerk. And I only get--only get--”

”Yes, come on! You only get?” thundered the tramp.

”I only get thirty-five dollars a month,” whispered the clerk.

”Only thirty-five bones a month? Well, by gum!” The tramp looked the shrinking clerk over with unspeakable contempt. ”Why, there ain't a Dago shoveler in the outfit doesn't get more than that!

”Very well, then,” he conceded loftily. ”You can keep your coppers. I never let it be said I rob the poor.

”But I tell you what I will have,” he went on suddenly. ”Them clothes are sure too good for any man not getting as much money as a Dago. These,”

indicating his own tattered and grimy garments, ”are more in your line.

Come on! Peel off!”

The trimly-dressed clerk stared aghast.

”You surely--don't mean--”

”I surely DO mean! _Sh.e.l.l off!_” roared the tramp.

And utterly beyond belief as it was, ten minutes later Elder was surveying himself in the unspeakable rags of the hobo, and the latter, before him, was ridiculously attired in his own natty, smaller garments.

Having then removed Elder's fancy Stetson and clamped his own greasy and battered christy down to the clerk's ears, the tramp had one further humiliation. Pointing to a clump of black, oily waste hanging from a nearby axle-box, he ordered, ”Pull out a bunch of that!”

Slowly, wondering, Elder did so.

”No one would believe you were a genuine hobo with such a scandalously clean face as that. Rub the waste over it,” commanded the tramp.

This was too much. Blindly Elder turned to escape. Instantly both pistols were once more at his head. And in final abject surrender he slowly rubbed the black car-grease upon his cheeks.

”Very good. A little on the forehead now,” directed the relentless tramp.

”Now the ears.

”_Go on!_... Very good.

”Now you may go.”

Frantically Elder spun about and dove between the cars. As he did so, behind him roared out six quick pistol shots.

Blindly he scrambled under the next train. Shouts rose ahead of him.

”Help, help!” he cried. ”Tramps! Tramps! Help!”

From the boarding-cars broke out a hubbub of excitement. ”Tramps!

Tramps!” he shrilled, scuttling beneath the third train.