“Well,” said the dog expert, “I never bumped into one, but if I did I suppose I’d do what everybody else does when they’re wrong an’ get caught at it. I’d get mad an’ cuss hell out of ’em.”

Breakfast over, the bums shaved. Both had razors. All bums carry razors for shaving, fighting, or cutting through a sleeper’s clothing to get into his pocket. One of them had a big silk handkerchief that he stropped his razor on, the other used his belt. They heated water in a tin can, lathered their hands, and rubbed it on their faces. One used his mirror, the other used none. After shaving they dried their blades carefully and secreted them about their persons. Blankets were rolled up, and the bums were ready to take the road. The D.D. man was going into the city for a few days. “So long.” He scrambled up the bank to the road.

The other was traveling in my direction and volunteered to direct me to a junction where I could make a westbound train.