San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1894-08-11
ON THE LOITER
THE HOBO's GAME: A STORY TOLD
AT THE NOMAp CLUB.

There was to have been held a
meeting at the Nomad club quar-
tiers of that select circle last night,
for the special purpose Of listening
to and discussing an epic poem
which Don Pedrito, the club poet,
had composed on the fruitful sub
ject Of Cramps that Pass In the
Night" The worthy genius fail
ing to put in his appearance at the
appointed hour, the calsomine-
faced musical professor was hon.
ored with the commission to see
what was the cause Of the delay on
the part of the poet. The musical
composer had scarcely left the
house, when the tomato can was
rushed and Jack related an
experience that he had had with
a characteristic hobo on Mill
bridge yesterday morning. 1t might
be we'll to say that when Jack tells
story, every character that he
brings into it, talks and plays his
part to perfection, while the mar
rative falls from his lips as smooth
ly and elegantly as though he were
delivering in an unaffected man.
ner, a very fiowery grafton, so easy
is his delivery and so complete his
command of the language.
The first tomato can arrived from
across the way, and after it made
the round Of the circle, Jack began
as follows:
Cleaning in an attitude of extreme
repose and suggestive fatigue on
the railing of the Mill bridge this
morning, was about as unique a
figure as think could possibly be
imagined. This attitude was the
unadulterated essence of laZiness,
his arms folded across the rail, his
head sunk deep into his shoulders,
one leg doubled up nearly to his
chin, while the other was shot by
some telescope movement known
only to himself, clear out to the
edge of the foot-way, while his
body seemed to be dangling be-
tween that leg and the base OF his
skull. To describe his dress and
general makeup, would require the
pen of a Dickens. One horse on
seeing him SHE'D into the middle
of the bridge, and dog running
abe ad of me stopped suddenly and
with tail between his legs, tackled
across to the other side. Even the
motorman seemed for a moment
dazed, for he kept his eye on that
leg and put on more power. sup
pose he thought the man might ex-
tend it suddenly across the track
and throw off the car. Being
somewhat nervous, myself, | hest
tated, but finally mustered courage
enough to step over the leg and
hoping to see what had riveted his
attention, | looked over the rail on
the other side of him.
Mister said he, turning up his
feet a little on one side, and dis
playing an eye like that Of an owl
with the Jim jams, is this water
kind o. deep"
"'Not very l answered.
when it amt muddy can you
see bottom -
go yes, very easily I assured
him.
well, I wish it werned so
hanged dirty he replied, and |
wanted to know why.
"'Well, you see, mister, I'm
kinder tired O this life. This er
world amt got no sympathy with
poor wOrkin man down on his
luck. Taint got no kind O. use fur
him, only fur the capitalist and
bloated dang bondholder.' He
paused, and focusing both Of his
eyes on me, continued: Mister,
never be a capitalist or bloated
DANCED bondholder - Thinks /,
that's waste of breath, Jack II
never become either, and 50 |
promised him fervently and quick
ly that | wouldn't.
now begin to feel that this man
had history as well as as an eX-
traordinary leg, and l inquired,
what has that got to do with the
water being dirty?
Well Mister it's this way: Pm
out o'work, amt done no kind
o'work fur hanged if l know when.
Well, We see, Mister, some folks
thinks that man that's trying
hard to get somethin to eat, amt a
workin man, yes.
Yes, yes, l understand all that,
but what has that got to do with
the Santone river being dirty l
interrupted.
"'WelI yer see, Mister, it's this
u,ov ain,t much on the swim