William Wrenn, "and I thought I was getting
this hobo business down pat.... Gee! I wonder if Pete _was_ so
hard to lick?"
CHAPTER VI
HE IS AN ORPHAN
Sadly clinging to the plan of the walking-trip he was to have
made with Morton, Mr. Wrenn crossed by ferry to Birkenhead,
quite unhappily, for he wanted to be discussing with Morton the
quaintness of the uniformed functionaries. He looked for the
_Merian_ half the way over. As he walked through Birkenhead,
bound for Chester, he pricked himself on to note red-brick
house-rows, almost shocking in their lack of high front stoops.
Along the country road he reflected: "Wouldn't Morty enjoy
this! Farm-yard all paved. Haystack with a little roof on it.
Kitchen stove stuck in a kind of fireplace. Foreign as the deuce."
But Morton was off some place, in a darkness where there weren't
things to enjoy. Mr. Wrenn had lost him forever. Once he heard
himself wishing that even Tim, the hatter, or "good old
McGarver" were along. A scene so British that it seemed proper
to enjoy it alone he did find in a real garden-party, with what
appeared to be a real curate, out of a story in _The Strand_,
passing teacups; but he passed out of that hot glow into a cold
plodding that led him to Chester and a dull hotel which might as
well have been in Bridgeport or Hoboken.
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