kidnappin' him. I went up to the store and borrowed a razor from that
fresh guy and had a shave. But that ain't all a man needs. Say--can't
you loosen up for about three fingers more of that booze? I never
asked you to bring me to your d----d farm."

"Stand up out here in the light," said Ranse, looking at him closely.

Curly got up sullenly and took a step or two.

His face, now shaven smooth, seemed transformed. His hair had been
combed, and it fell back from the right side of his forehead with a
peculiar wave. The moonlight charitably softened the ravages of drink;
and his aquiline, well-shaped nose and small, square cleft chin almost
gave distinction to his looks.

Ranse sat on the foot of the cot and looked at him curiously.

"Where did you come from--have you got any home or folks anywhere?"

"Me? Why, I'm a dook," said Curly. "I'm Sir Reginald--oh, cheese it.
No; I don't know anything about my ancestors. I've been a tramp ever
since I can remember. Say, old pal, are you going to set 'em up again
to-night or not?"

"You answer my questions and maybe I will. How did you come to be a
tramp?"

"Me?" answered Curly. "Why, I adopted that profession when I was an
infant. Case of had to. First thing I can remember, I belonged to a
big, lazy hobo called Beefsteak Charley. He sent me around to houses