KIT INSPECTION
Looking over the parapet above the path to the lower village, I found myself with a bird's eye view of a tramp who sat with his back against the wall and took stock of his worldly possessions. It was dry, and he laid his treasures in a line to his right, placing them on a narrow strip of oilskin. There were some pieces of rag, a smoky can, a tin box that probably contained matches and firewood, an object like a pocketbook, a screw of paper that might have held salt and another that contained some kind of fat. This was the last item laid on view, and when he had deposited it on the oilskin the old fellow began to examine the inside of a boot that he produced from a large pocket, or perhaps the lining of his overcoat. He had been gingerly fingering the inside of the boot for a minute when a small black dog came racing up and snatched the piece of paper containing the fat. Immedi- ately, and without hesitation, the old man threw his boot at the dog, but it missed the target, and went slithering on down the asphalt to the brink of the stream where it seemed to hover and then toppled with a heavy splash into the water. The dog, meanwhile, raced away, and I waited for developments, but none came. The tramp looked up and saw me. He neither smiled nor scowled. He was past expressing emotion.
Previous page
