x and a bullet through your
heart, worry is about the blackest, man-killingest thing on earth,
David. See that bag?"

He pointed to one of the bulging gunny sacks.

"That's the antidote," he said. "It's the best medicine I know of in the
grub line for a man who's lost his grip. There's the making of three men
in that sack."

"What is it?" asked David, curiously.

The Missioner bent over to examine a card attached to the neck of the
bag.

"To be perfectly accurate it contains 110 pounds of beans," he answered.

"Beans! Great Heavens! I loathe them!"

"So do most down-and-outs," affirmed Father Roland, cheerfully. "That's
one reason for the peculiar psychological value of beans. They begin to
tell you when you're getting weaned away from a lobster palate and a
stuffed-crab stomach, and when you get to the point where you want 'em
on your regular bill of fare you'll find more fun in chopping down a
tree than in going to a grand opera. But the beans must be _cooked_
right, David--browned like a nut, juicy to the heart of 'em, and
seasoned alongside a broiling duck or partridge, or a tender rabbit.
Ah!"

The Little Missioner rubbed his hands ecstatically.

David's rejoinder, if one was on his lips, was interrupted by a violent
cursing. The train was well under way, and the baggage-man had sat down
to a small table with his back toward them. He had leaped to his feet
now, his face furious, and with another demoniac curse he gave the coal
skuttle a kick that sent it with a bang to the far end of the car. The
table was littered with playing cards.

"Damn 'em--they beat me this time in ten plays!" he yelled. "They've got
the devil in 'em! If they was alive I'd jump on 'em! I've played this
game of solitaire for nineteen years--I've played a million games--an'
damned if I ever got beat in my life as it's beat me since we left
Halifax!"

"Dear Heaven!" gasped Father Roland. "Have you been playing all the way
from Halifax?"

The solitaire fiend seemed not to hear, and resuming his seat with a low
and ominous muttering, he dealt himself another hand. In less than a
minute he was on his feet again, shaking the cards angrily under the
Little Missioner's nose as though that individual were entirely
accountable for his bad luck.

"Look at that accursed trey of hearts!" he demanded. "First card, ain't
it? First card!--an' if it had been the third, 'r the sixth, 'r the
ninth, 'r anything except that confounded Number One