Beggars of Life Read Online Free Page B

rolled all aroun’ me. If I’d a stretched out my arms any they’d o’ been on the rails, an’ I’d a been a bum wit’out grub-hooks.”
    He looked down at his grimy hands. His weather-beaten cap sat back on his head, which was smooth all over, and round as a billiard ball. He had no eyebrows. They had gone away with his hair. His eyelids fell away from his eyes and made small gaps, like red wounds, in his face. His rheumy eyes blinked constantly, while his forehead twitched above them nervously.
    I watched him with fascinated interest. The man removed his cap and rubbed his rough hand over his smooth head, as though he were placing straggly locks in place.
    The tramps laughed outright at the movement, and I joined them. The hairless tramp grinned crookedly as he looked at me.
    â€œWhatsamatter, Red, you jealous?” he asked.
    â€œNo, I’d about as soon be red-headed as have no hair at all,” I replied.
    â€œWas you born bald-headed?” asked a tramp.
    â€œNope, I had a fever, an’ my hair come out. Some guy tells me to git it shaved an’ it’d grow back in quicker.”
    â€œDiden it never grow no more atall?” asked a hobo.
    â€œIf it ever did, it grew t’other way. I ain’t never seen it.”
    Suddenly there was great commotion outside, and the door was hastily opened. Two flashlights shone in our faces.
    â€œHands up, everybody,” said a rough voice behind one of the lights, as two policemen entered the shed. One of them was the officer who had drunk the coffee. We were lined against the wall and searched.
    Our pockets searched, we were marched out of the shed to a spot where two other policemen stood stamping their feet in the snow. Then all four officers marched us to a patrol wagon which stood at the edge of the railroad yards. When we reached the wagon, a policeman said, “Jump in,” and all obeyed.
    The wagon clattered over the rough streets until it reached the police station.
    As it lumbered along, one tramp said to me, “You don’t remember nothin’ anyone said. Get me?”
    â€œGosh,” said one of the men who had lately slept on the sand, “I sure had a good snooze. Dreamt I was eatin’ pancakes an’ honey.”
    The wagon drew up at the station and we were marched before the Chief of Police. That austere gentleman scanned us with a disdainful look on his face. “Take ’em away, an’ bring ’em in one at a time,” he ordered.
    We were taken to another room under the guard of two policemen. I was the first to be brought before the Chief, and I walked behind my captor with shaking knees, as though I were on the way to the gallows and had taken a last look at the world.
    The Chief’s eyes were small, and his face was heavy. He wore a big red moustache, and his whole appearance reminded me of the pictures of brigands I had seen in books of adventure.
    â€œWell,” shouted the Chief, as he scowled at me, “what safe did you crack? How long you been out o’ jail? Huh!”
    I was scared beyond words, and the tears came to my eyes as I looked at the faces of my captors, who stood frowning.
    â€œTalk up, lad, ’fess up. We’ll let you off easy if you tell the truth,” said the Chief.
    I blurted out the truth rapidly.
    The Chief’s face did not relax. “Did any of that bunch out there say anything about any jobs they’d done, or anything?”
    â€œNo, sir,” I answered.
    â€œWhat did they talk about then?”
    â€œMostly about the weather, and one guy bein’ bald-headed, and things.”
    The questioning over, I was taken to a cell where I remained until all had been questioned and searched again.
    Some money was found in the pocket of one of the hoboes, and we were taken through the deserted streets to an unpainted, frame building that was barely strong enough to face the winter winds. The policeman rang an