et that I made in this first
wash-trough of my experience, but it had to suffice, and I took my seat
at supper.

Canned stuff it was,--corned beef. And one of my table companions said
the truth about it. "When I slung my teeth over that," he remarked, "I
thought I was chewing a hammock." We had strange coffee, and condensed
milk; and I have never seen more flies. I made no attempt to talk,
for no one in this country seemed favorable to me. By reason of
something,--my clothes, my hat, my pronunciation, whatever it might be,
I possessed the secret of estranging people at sight. Yet I was doing
better than I knew; my strict silence and attention to the corned beef
made me in the eyes of the cow-boys at table compare well with the
over-talkative commercial travellers.

The Virginian's entrance produced a slight silence. He had done wonders
with the wash-trough, and he had somehow brushed his clothes. With all
the roughness of his dress, he was now the neatest of us. He nodded to
some of the other cow-boys, and began his meal in quiet.

But silence is not the native element of the drummer. An average fish
can go a longer time out of water than this breed can live without
talking. One of them now looked across the table at the grave,
flannel-shirted Virginian; he inspected, and came to the imprudent
conclusion that he understood his man.

"Good evening," he said briskly.

"Good evening," said the Virginian.

"Just come to town?" pursued the drummer.

"Just come to town," the Virginian suavely assented.

"Cattle business jumping along?" inquired the drummer.

"Oh, fair." And the Virginian took some more corned beef.

"Gets a move on your appetite, anyway," suggested the drummer.

The Virginian drank some coffee. Presently the pretty woman refilled his
cup without his asking her.

"Guess I've met you before," the drummer stated next.

The Virginian glanced at him for a brief moment.

"Haven't I, now? Ain't I seen you somewhere? Look at me. You been in
Chicago, ain't you? You look at me well. Remember Ikey's, don't you?"

"I don't reckon I do."

"See, now! I knowed you'd been in Chicago. Four or five years ago. Or
maybe it's two years. Time's nothing to me. But I never forget a face.
Yes, sir. Him and me's met at Ikey's, all right." This important point
the drummer stated to all of us. We were called to witness how well he
had proved old acquaintanceship. "Ain't the world small, though!" he
exclaimed complace