"I'm glad you believe in folks," said Louise. "So do I."
"It's account of bein' a pote, I guess," sighed the tramp. "'Course I ain't a professional. They got to have a license. I never took out one, not havin' the money. Anyway, if I did have enough money for a regular license, I'd start a saloon and live respectable."
"Won't you quote something?" And the girl smiled bewitchingly. "Boyar and I must go soon. It's getting hot."
"I'm mighty sorry you're goin', Miss. You're real California stock. Knowed it the minute I set eyes on you. Besides, you passed us the smokes."
Overland turned a blue, astonished eye on Collie. "Why, kiddo, what's bitin' _you_?"
"Because the lady give us the makings don't say _she_ smokes, does it?"
Overland grunted. "Because you're foolish with the heat, don't say I am, does it? Them sandwiches has gone to your head, Chico. Who said she did smoke?"
Louise, grave-eyed, watched the two men, Overland sullen and scowling, Collie fierce and flaming.
"We ain't used to--to real ladies," apologized Overland. "We could do better if we practiced up."
"Of course!" said Louise, smiling. "But the poetry."
"U-m-m, yes. The po'try. What'll I give her, Collie?"
"I don't care," replied the boy. "You might try 'Casey Jones.' It's better'n anything _you_ ever wrote."
"That? I guess not! That ain't her style. I mean one of my _own_--somethin' _good_."
"Oh, I don't know. 'Toledo Blake,'" mumbled Collie.
"Nope! But I guess the 'Grand Old Privilege' will do for a starter."
"Oh, good!" And Louise clapped her hands. "The title is splendid. Is the poem original?"
The tramp bowed a trifle haughtily. "Original? Me life's work, lady." And he awkwardly essayed to button a buttonless coat, coughed, waved his half-consumed cigarette toward the skies, and began:--
"Folks say we got no morals--that they all fell in the soup; And no conscience--so the would-be goodies say; And I guess our good intentions _did_ jest up and flew the coop, While we stood around and watched 'em fade away.
"But there's one thing that we're lovin' more than money, grub, or booze, Or even decent folks that speaks us fair; And that's the Grand Old Privilege to chuck our luck and choose, _Any_ road at _any_ time for _any_ where."