he same,' he says. 'What can I do for for you?'

"'Lock us up,' I says, '--him and me both. We're tramps,' I says,
'vagrants, derilicks wandering to and fro,' I says, 'like raging lions
seeking whatsoever we might devour--and not,' I says, 'having no luck.
We are dangerous characters,' I says, 'and it's a shame to leave us at
large. Lock us up,' I says, 'and feed us.'

"'Nothing doing,' he says. 'Try the next town--it's only nine miles and
a good hard road all the way.'

"'I thought,' I says, 'that you took a hidebound oath never to shave
until you'd locked up a thousand tramps.'

"'Yep, he says, 'that's so; but you're a little late. I pinched him
about an hour ago.'

"'Pinched who?' I says.

"'The thousandth one,' he says. 'Early to-morrow morning,' he says, 'I'm
going to get sealed bids and estimates on a clean shave. But first,' he
says, 'in celebration of a historic occasion, I'm giving a little supper
to-night to the regular boarders in the jail. I guess you'll have to
excuse me--seems to me like I smell the turkey dressing scorching.'

"And with that he goes inside and locks the door behind him, and don't
pay no attention to us beating on the bars, except to open an upstairs
window and throw a bucket of water at us.

"That's the last straw. My legs gives way, both at once, in opposite
directions. Sweet Caps he drags me across the street and props me up
against a building, and as he fans me with his hat I speaks to him very
soft and faint and low.

"'Sweep Caps,' I says, 'I'm through. Leave me,' I says, 'and make for
civilization. And,' I says, 'if you live to get there, come back
sometime and collect my mortal remains and bury 'em,' I says, 'in some
quiet, peaceful spot. No,' I says, 'don't do that neither! Bury me,' I
says, 'in a Chinee cemetary. The Chinees,' I says, 'puts vittles on the
graves of their dear departeds, instead of flowers. Maybe,' I says, 'my
ghost will walk at night,' I says, 'and eat chop suey.'

"'Wait,' he says, 'don't go yet. Look yonder,' he says, pointing up
Main Street on the other side. 'Read that sign,' he says.

"I looks and reads, and it says on a front window; '_Undertaking and
Emba'ming In All Its Branches._'

"I rallies a little. 'Son boy,' I says, 'you certainly are one
thoughtful little guy--but can't you take a joke? I talk about passing
away, and before I get the words out of my pore exhausted vacant frame
you begin to pick out the fun'el director. What's your rus