fellow, with a tangled beard, bloodshot eyes, and a yellow complexion. He leered at them horribly.
Lady, he said, gimme the price of a meal. Or p'raps your gen'leman friend . . . ? He doffed his greasy cap.
I haven't . . . Miss Colman began with embarrassment and some fear.
We haven't any money with us, Gareth explained honestly.
What's in that tin? The tramp's tone was a mixture of exaggerated politeness and irony, verging on a snarl. Can't you gimme a sandwich? You go out in the woods for a quiet feed with your lady friend an' you can't spare a bite for a poor man what wants work.
They're only eggs in the tin, Gareth muttered.
Gimme an egg!
Swallows' eggs.
So you an' your lady friend's been out for swallows' eggs! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! The tramp began to grin broadly.
Gareth and Lennie Colman hastened on. As they turned a corner and saw the round-house ahead of them, the woman cast a glance back over her shoulder. There stood the tramp, still leering at them, in the middle of the track on just the spot where they had left him.
What a dreadful man! gasped Lennie. O! I shouldn't be out so late!
It isn't late, argued Gareth, and you said nothing
