I first noticed him on the street, asleep in a doorway, his head on his knees, but a hat on his head that one does not meet this side of the Western Ocean.

When the policeman routed him out, he got up slowly and deliberately, looked at the policeman, yawned and stretched himself, looked at the policeman again as much as to say he didn't know whether he would or wouldn't, and then sauntered leisurely down the sidewalk.

At the outset I was sure of the hat, but this made me sure of the wearer of the hat.
In the jam inside I found myself alongside of him, and we had quite a chat.

He had been through Spain, Italy, Switzerland, and France, and had accomplished the practically impossible feat of beating his way three hundred miles on a French railway without being caught at the finish.
Where was I hanging out?
he asked.

And how did I manage for "kipping" ?--which means sleeping.