"
"That? I guess not! That ain't her style. I mean one of my
_own_--somethin' _good_."
"Oh, I don't know. 'Toledo Blake,'" mumbled Collie.
"Nope! But I guess the 'Grand Old Privilege' will do for a starter."
"Oh, good!" And Louise clapped her hands. "The title is splendid. Is the
poem original?"
The tramp bowed a trifle haughtily. "Original? Me life's work, lady."
And he awkwardly essayed to button a buttonless coat, coughed, waved his
half-consumed cigarette toward the skies, and began:--
"Folks say we got no morals--that they all fell in the soup;
And no conscience--so the would-be goodies say;
And I guess our good intentions _did_ jest up and flew the coop,
While we stood around and watched 'em fade away.
"But there's one thing that we're lovin' more than money, grub, or booze,
Or even decent folks that speaks us fair;
And that's the Grand Old Privilege to chuck our luck and choose,
_Any_ road at _any_ time for _any_ where."
And Overland, his hand above his heart, bowed effusively.
"I like 'would-be goodies,'" said Louise. "Sounds just like a mussy,
sticky cookie that's too sweet. And 'Any road at any time for any
where--' I think that is real.
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