I pulled my jacket tighter around me, trying to ward off the night chill. I should have found out where Pa lived, so I could wait for him there. If he had a place.

Across the way, business at the bar had picked up for a couple of hours, and then the drinking crowd had begun thinning out again. I wondered when closing time was.

Finally, at what I guessed had to be after midnight, Pa stumbled out. I went over, prepared for the reek of his drinking, not expecting just how strong it would be.

“Come on,” I said. “I’ll get you home. Which way do we go?”

“Left,” he answered. Half draped over me, he led us left again and again and once more. It brought us back to the saloon where we’d started.

A man, seeing us, said, “This that son you were talking about, Trawnley?”

“That’s him,” Pa answered, slurring his words bad.

I asked the man, “Do you know where my dad lives?”

“Doubt he has a place,” the man answered. “But if you need a spot to put your head, there’s a hobo camp sprung up a mile or so out of town. I doubt anyone will bother you there.” He pointed to a side street. “That way. Just follow your nose till you see the campfires.”

“Come on, Pa,” I said, tugging on his arm.

He started around the side of the building.

“Where are you going?” I asked, following.

The alley he went into smelled of urine, and Pa couldn’t get done adding to it fast enough to suit me. But then he sank down and curled into a ball.

“Hey, stand up,” I told him. “We can’t stay here.”

I struggled to pull him to his feet, but he shook me off. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I didn’t ask you to come up here, telling me what to do.” His speech was so garbled I had to think back on what I’d heard to understand it.

And then he was out cold, snoring loud.

I tried again to get him moving, but he was past waking. And skinny though he was, he was a deadweight I couldn’t budge. Finally I gave up trying. I just hoped we’d get through the night without freezing.

About dawn I was wakened by a foot prodding me. “You alive there?”

I looked up at a policeman.

“Yes, I am. We are. We’re just—”

“There’s a law against vagrancy.”

“We’re not vagrants. We’re just—”

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “’Cause I’d hate to have to run you in.” A whistle sounded. “I suppose that’s your train now?”

“What?” Pa asked, stirring. He looked from the policeman to me, seeming puzzled by the situation. His face cleared as it came to him who I was. “Moss!” he said. “What are you doing here?”