"
At the summit they paused again to rest.
"That was the time," began Overland, "when I writ that there pome called
'Heart Throbs of a Hobo.' Listen!"
"Oh, my stummick is jest akein'
For a little bite of bacon,
A slice of bread, a little mug of brew.
I'm tired of seein' scenery,
Jest lead me to a beanery,
Where there's something more than only air to chew."
"The last line sounds like a sneeze," said Winthrop, laughing.
"Speakin' of sneeze," said Overland, "makes me think you ain't coughed
so much lately, Billy."
"I had a pretty bad time yesterday morning," replied Winthrop.
"Well, you'll get cured and stay cured, up here," said Overland, hugely
optimistic.
"Of course," rejoined Winthrop, smiling. "It's such hard work to breathe
up here that I have to keep alive to attend to it."
"That's her! Them little old bellowsus of your'n 'll get exercise--not
pumpin' off the effects of booze an' cigarettes, neither, but from
pumpin' in clean thin air with a edge to it. Them little old germs will
all get dizzy and lose their holt."
"That's getting rather deep into personalities," said Winthrop. "But I
think you're correct. I could eat a whole side of bacon, raw.
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