He hesitated about answering, being naturally reluctant to have such a
traveling companion.

"Well, what do you say?" demanded the tramp rather impatiently.
"There's plenty of room on that seat, and I'm dead tired."

"Where are you going?" asked Ben.

"Same way you are--to Pentonville."

"You can ride," said Ben, in a tone by means cordial, and he halted
his horse till his unsavory companion climbed into the wagon.

They were two miles from Pentonville, and Ben had a prospect of a
longer ride than he desired under the circumstances. His companion
pulled out a dirty clay pipe from his pocket, and filled it with
tobacco, and then explored another pocket for a match. A muttered
oath showed that he failed to find one.

"Got a match, boy?" he asked.

"No," answered Ben, glad to have escaped the offensive fumes of the
pipe.

"Just my luck!" growled the tramp, putting back the pipe with a look
of disappointment. "If you had a match now, I wouldn't mind letting
you have a whiff or two.

"I don't smoke," answered Ben, hardly able to repress a look of