Mile End
Road is a wide thoroughfare, cutting the heart of East London, and there
were tens of thousands of people abroad on it. I tell you this so that
you may fully appreciate what I shall describe in the next paragraph. As
I say, we walked along, and when they grew bitter and cursed the land, I
cursed with them, cursed as an American waif would curse, stranded in a
strange and terrible land. And, as I tried to lead them to believe, and
succeeded in making them believe, they took me for a "seafaring man," who
had spent his money in riotous living, lost his clothes (no unusual
occurrence with seafaring men ashore), and was temporarily broke while
looking for a ship. This accounted for my ignorance of English ways in
general and casual wards in particular, and my curiosity concerning the
same.
The Carter was hard put to keep the pace at which we walked (he told me
that he had eaten nothing that day), but the Carpenter, lean and hungry,
his grey and ragged overcoat flapping mournfully in the breeze, swung on
in a long and tireless stride which reminded me strongly of the plains
wolf or coyote. Both kept their eyes upon the pavement as they walked
and talked, and every now and then one or the other would stoop and pick
something up, never missing the stride the while.
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