Washington Standard

Living in Hopes.

There is no particular reason why a tramp should wear a polished white shirt, but they had one at the Central Station yesterday with a shirt so terribly in want of a soap suds bath that the oldest men on the force gathered around the fellow and declared that they never saw anything like it under the blue canopy of heaven. When asked how long he had worn it without washing, the man seemed hurt and replied:

"Give a fellow a chance, won't you? You see, I had this shirt on seven months ago when I broke my arm. I couldn't get it off then, of course."

"But your arm got well," protested one of the officers.

"Yes, it got well, and then my sister died."

"What of that?"

"Why, she made this 'ere shirt with her own blessed hands, and I kinder felt as if it was my duty to wear it in memory of her for awhile. I'm a hard looking pill, I know, but I loved my sister. Poor Sarah! She's up there where they don't need clean shirts and never have their hair cut."

"Well, haven't you worn it long enough to ease your sister's spirit?"

"Gentlemen, I should have got this shirt washed some time this week, but last night I lost my dog—an animal which has stuck by me for over three years."

"And what has the dog to do with it?"

"If I should get washed up and cleaned up and seem to be somebody, and should come across that dog, he'd look at my hair, give one sniff at my clothes, and then he'd turn tail and keep up the search till he fell in his tracks. I don't want to go back on my own dog, do I? I don't want to play any contemptible trick on a canine which has turned to and eaten shingle nails and old oyster cans when we was on the tramp and couldn't git nothing for myself but shelled corn. How I'd look going back on a dog which never laid down beside me at night without hunting around to see where I could pick up turnips for breakfast?"

"After you find your dog you can wash up," suggested an officer.

"Well, I shall live in hopes," was the dubious reply. "Life is but a span, you know. We cometh up like flowers and are cut down, and I tell you I'm not going to run any risks or take any chances for the sake of having a clean shirt to spit tobacco-juice on!"—Detroit Free Press.