rer, in any of the senses
attached to that word. His instincts were for the settled, the
well-ordered, and the practical. He would have been content with any
humdrum existence that permitted his peaceable, commercially gifted soul
to develop in its natural environment. The process, therefore, by which
Norrie Ford became Herbert Strange, even in his own thoughts, had been one
of inner travail, though the outward conditions could not have been more
favorable. Now that he had reached a point where his more obvious
anxieties were passing away, and the hope of safety was becoming a
reality, he could look back and see how relatively easy everything had
been.

He had leisure for reflection because it was the hour for the men's midday
meal and siesta. He could see them grouped together--some thirty-odd--at
the far end of the shed--sturdy little Italians, black-eyed, smiling,
thrifty, dirty, and contented to a degree that made them incomprehensible
to the ambitious, upward-toiling American set over them. They sat, or
lounged, on piles of wood, or on the floor, some chattering, most of them
asleep. He had begun like them. He had stacked wool under orders till he
had made himself capable of being in command. He had been beneath the
ladder; and though his foot was only on the lowest rung of it even now, he
was satisfied to have made this first step upward.

He could not be said to have taken it to his own surprise, since he had
prepared himself for it, and for other such steps to follow it, knowing
that they must become feasible in time. He had been given to understand
that what the Argentine, in common with some other countries, needed most
was neither men nor capital, but intelligence. Men were pouring in from
every corner of the globe; capital was keen in looking for its
opportunity; but for intelligence the demand was always greater than the
supply.

The first intimation of such a need had come to him on the _Empress of
Erin_, in mid-Atlantic, by a chance opportunity of the voyage. It was on
one of the first days of liberty when he had ventured to mix freely with
his fellow-passengers. Up to the present he had followed the rule of
conduct adopted at the little Canadian station of Saint Jean du Clou Noir.
He went into public when necessary, but no oftener. He did then what other
people did, in the way to attract the least attention. The season favored
him, for amid the throngs of early autumn travellers, moving from country
b