Bums, thieves, beggars, and yeggs appeared as if they had magic carpets. In no time the thing assumed the proportions of a convention. Everybody had money. The crowd soon split up into units. Each unit had its cook and cooking outfit. The “captain” of each unit collected from the individuals and sent the younger bums into the town to buy alcohol, beer, and the makin’s of mulligans. There was drinking, fast and furious, eating, washing, shaving, while some of the older bums mended their clothes with expert needle. Cripples discarded their crutches and hopped about the camp fires grotesquely. “Crawlers” with cut-off legs swung themselves along on their hands drunkenly, like huge toads.

Because of George our unit easily had all the class of the convention. He sat in state on a coal-oil can by the fire, bottle in hand, royally receiving the congratulations of bums from the four points of the compass.