with evident displeasure; "Chazy Junction's got all it
kin do to support its reg'lar inhabitants. You'll hev to move on."

The stranger sat down on a baggage truck and eyed the private car
reflectively. He wore a rough gray suit, baggy and threadbare, a flannel
shirt with an old black tie carelessly knotted at the collar, a brown
felt hat with several holes in the crown, and coarse cowhide shoes that
had arrived at the last stages of usefulness. You would judge him to be
from twenty-five to thirty years of age; you would note that his face
was browned from exposure, that it was rather set and expressionless but
in no way repulsive. His eyes, dark and retrospective, were his most
redeeming feature, yet betrayed little of their owner's character. Mr.
Judkins could make nothing of the fellow, beyond the fact that he was
doubtless a "tramp" and on that account most unwelcome in this retired
neighborhood.

Even tramps were unusual at Chazy Junction. The foothills were sparsely
settled and the inhabitants too humble to be attractive to gentlemen of
the road, while the rocky highways, tortuous and uneven, offered no
invitation to the professional pedestrian.

"You'll hev to move on!" repeated the agent, more sternly.

"I can't," replied the other with a smile. "The car I was--er--attached
to has come to a halt. The engine has left us, and--here we are, I and
the nabobs."

"Be'n ridin' the trucks, eh?"

"No; rear platform. Very comfortable it was, and no interruptions. The
crazy old train stopped so many times during the night that I scarcely
woke up when they sidetracked us here, and the first thing I knew I was
abandoned in this wilderness. As it grew light I began to examine my
surroundings, and discovered you. Glad to meet you, sir."

"You needn't be."

"Don't begrudge me the pleasure, I implore you. I can't blame you for
being gruff and unsociable; were you otherwise you wouldn't reside
at--at--" he turned his head to read the half legible sign on the
station house, "at Chazy Junction. I'm familiar with most parts of the
United States, but Chazy Junction gets my flutters. Why, oh, why in the
world did it happen?"

Mr. Judkins scowled but made no answer. He was wise enough to understand
he was no match in conversation for this irresponsible outcast who knew
the great world as perfectly as the agent knew his junction. He turned
away and stared hard at the silent sleeper, the appearance of which was
not wholly une