to break away from the evil, degrading things that were in and about
him, and the many times he had been dragged back by the training and
memory of his father; the gambling, the fighting, the drinking, the
periods of hard work, the struggle to master his trade, and the reckless
wasting of wages in times of wild despair again. And now his father
was dead--dead--he shuddered. There was nothing to bind him to the
past now; he was free.

"Can't ye give me that drink, Dicky? Jest one little horn. It'll do
us both good, an' then I'll shove erlong; jes fer old times' sake, ye
know."

The voice of the tramp broke in upon his thoughts. For a moment longer
he sat there; then started to his feet, a new light in his eye; a new
ring in his voice.

"No, Jake," he said slowly; "I wouldn't if I could now. I'm done with
the old times forever." He threw up his head and stood proudly erect
while the tramp gazed in awe at something in his face he had never
seen before.

"I have only five cents in the world," continued Dick. "Here, take it.
You'll be hungry again soon and--and--Good bye, Jake--Good bye--" He
turned and walked swiftly away while the other stood staring in
astonishment and wonder, first at the coin in his hand, then at the
retreating figure. Then with an exclamation, the ragged fellow wheeled
and started in the opposite direction toward the railroad yards, to
catch a south-bound freight.

Dick had walked scarcely a block when a lean hound came trotting across