"Glory be good to me! I've tramped this bit o' road for years, an' never come across such a poor old chuckle-headed gammer as you sleepin' under a tree afore! Readin' portry an' droppin' to by-by over it! The larst man as iver I saw a' readin' portry was what they called a 'Serious Sunday' man, an' 'e's doin' time now in Portland." Helmsley smiled.

He was amused;--his "adventures," he thought, were beginning.

To be called "a poor old chuckle-headed gammer" was a new and almost delightful experience.
"Portland's an oncommon friendly place," went on his uninvited companion.

"Once they gits ye, they likes ye to stop.

'Taint like the fash'nable quality what says to their friends: 'Do-ee come an' stay wi' me, loveys!' wishin' all the while as they wouldn't.