Page 221 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

rived. The clergyman was a nice, chubby, youngish man,
and, curiously enough, very like Charlie, my friend in Paris.
He was shy and embarrassed, and did not speak except for a
brief good evening; he simply hurried down the line of men,
thrusting a ticket upon each, and not waiting to be thanked.
The consequence was that, for once, there was genuine grat-
itude, and everyone said that the clergyman was a—good
feller. Someone (in his hearing, I believe) called out: ‘Well,
HE’LL never be a—bishop!’—this, of course, intended as a
warm compliment.
The tickets were worth sixpence each, and were direct-
ed to an eating-house not far away. When we got there we
found that the proprietor, knowing that the tramps could
not go elsewhere, was cheating by only giving four pen-
nyworth of food for each ticket. Paddy and I pooled our
tickets, and received food which we could have got for sev-
enpence or eightpence at most coffee-shops. The clergyman
had distributed well over a pound in tickets, so that the pro-
prietor was evidently swindling the tramps to the tune of
seven shillings or more a week. This kind of victimization
is a regular part of a tramp’s life, and it will go on as long as
people continue to give meal tickets instead of money.
Paddy and I went back to the lodging-house and, still
hungry, loafed in the kitchen, making the warmth of the fire
a substitute for food. At half-past ten Bozo arrived, tired out
and haggard, for his mangled leg made walking an agony.
He had not earned a penny at screeving, all the pitches un-
der shelter being taken, and for several hours he had begged
outright, with one eye on the policemen. He had amassed

0 Down and Out in Paris and London