s--"

"Go on, Doctor," I said, feebly; "you were speaking of his work."

"Yes. Well, his system was full of malaria; the first day I had him
wrapped up in blankets, and dosed with quinine. The next day he was
taken with all the symptoms of cholera morbus, and I had to keep him up
on brandy and capsicum. Rheumatism set in on the following day, and
incapacitated him for work, and I concluded I had better give him a
note to the director of the City Hospital than keep him here. As a
pathological study he was good; but as I was looking for a man to help
about the stable, I couldn't afford to keep him in both capacities."

As I never could really tell when the Doctor was in joke or in earnest,
I dropped the subject. And so my friend, the Tramp, gradually faded
from my memory, not however without leaving behind him in the barn
where he had slept a lingering flavor of whisky, onions, and
fluffiness. But in two weeks this had gone, and the "Shebang" (as my
friends irreverently termed my habitation) knew him no more. Yet it
was pleasant to think of him as having at last found a job at
brick-making, or having returned to his family at Milwaukee, or making
his Louisiana home once more happy with his presence, or again tempting
the fish-producing main--this time with a noble and equitable captain.

It was a lovely August morning when I rode across the sandy peninsula
to visit a certain noted family, whereof all the sons were valiant and
the daughters beautiful. The front of the house was deserted, but on
the rear veranda I heard the rustle of gowns, and above it arose what
seemed to be the voice of Ulysses, reciting his wanderings. There was
no mistaking that voice, it was my friend, the Tramp!

From what I could hastily gather from his speech, he had walked from
St. John, N. B., to rejoin a distressed wife in New York, who was,
however, living with opulent but objectionable relatives. "An' shure,
miss, I wouldn't be askin' ye the loan of a cint if I could get worruk
at me trade of carpet-wavin'--and maybe ye know of some mannfacthory
where they wave carpets beyant here. Ah, miss, and if ye don't give me
a cint, it's enough for the loikes of me to know that me troubles has
brought the tears in the most beautiful oiyes in the wurruld, and God
bless ye for it, miss!"

Now I knew that the Most Beautiful Eyes in the World belonged to one of
the most sympathetic and tenderest hearts in the world, and I felt that
common ju