MY TRAMP. 865 



When this unghostly apparition thrust itself into my pres- 

 ence I was in my store drawing off my last year's account. 

 Sandwiched between the good bills, like spoiled ham between 

 fresh baker's bread, were several bad ones. Here was John Doe, 

 who, by paying cash at the start, had got into my good graces 

 until I opened an account with him, when, by paying a little 

 on the old score and buying more on • a new, he had so run 

 in my debt that I had refused him further credit, and he now 

 went to the new opposition store, where he paid cash. John had 

 just gone by with a string of mackerel in one hand and a jug 

 of molasses in the other, which he carried with a defiant 

 swing. There was Richard Roe, whom I had nursed, speaking 

 in a mercantile way, for some time, in the hope that he would 

 receive a stroke of conscience and pay me like a man, but who, 

 I had just learned, had run away between two days. There 

 were others of the same stamp who were making themselves 

 apparent as I ran over the contents of my ledger, and I con- 

 fess I was in rather an irritable mood when my tramp 

 appeared before me, and I felt like inviting him to retire until 

 I had more leisure to entertain him. It is thus we often make 

 the innocent the victims of the spleen which others have 

 engendered. 



But then he was only a tramp ! 



So was Franklin, when landing in Philadelphia, with his 

 clothing sticking out of his pockets, he stood munching his 

 roll of bread. In this day and time he would have been 

 avoided by man, while the dogs would have been invited to 

 give him their special attention. 



Only a tramp? 



So was Homer, when, wandering through those seven noble 

 cities of Greece, each of which afterward contended for the 

 honor of being his birthplace, he begged his unwillingly-given 

 bread. In our prejudice how many Franklins and Homers 

 we kick from our doors ! 



