But we were served, then, a good breakfast, at the town's expense. The
owner of the restaurant was a queer little, grey-faced, stringy fellow.
He fed us all the buckwheat cakes and sausages we could hold, and won
every hobo's heart, by giving all the coffee we could drink ... we held
our cups with our hands about them, grateful for the warmth.
"Say, you're all right, mister!" ventured a tramp to the proprietor, as
he walked by.
"Bet your God-damned life I'm all right!... because I ain't nothin' but
a bum myself ... yes, an' I'm not ashamed of it, neither ... before I
struck this burg an' started this "ham-and" and made it pay, I was on
the road same es all o' you!"
"Kin I have more pancakes, boss, an' another cup of coffee?"
"You sure can, bo!... es I was sayin', I'm a bum myself, an' proud of it
... and I think these here damn bulls (policemen ... who were sitting
nearby, waiting for us to finish) have mighty little to 'tend to,
roundin' up you boys, now the orange-pickin' season's over with, an'
puttin' you away like this ... why, if any one of them was half as
decent as one o' you bums--"
"Sh! fer Christ's sake!" I admonished, "they're hearing you."
"That's jest what I want 'em to do ... I don't owe nothin' to no man,
an' it's time someone told 'em somethin'."
* * * * *
Breakfast over, we were marched off to the courthouse.
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