tial truth for which Bob had been
searching. He wanted to know how, through what experience, the man had
come to this insight.

But his attempts at conversation met with a cold reception. Painless
Porter was too old a bird ever to lower his guard. He met the youth on
the high plane of professionalism, refused to utter other than the
platitudinous counters demanded by the occasion. He held the young man
at spear's length, and showed plainly by the ominous glitter of his eye
that he did not intend to be trifled with.

Then Baker's jolly voice broke in.

"Well! well! well!" he cried. "If here aren't my old friends, Painless
Porter and the Wiz! Simple life for yours, eh? Back to beans! What's the
general outline of _this_ graft?"

"We have come camping for a complete rest," stated Waller gravely, his
comical face cast in lines of reprobation and warning.

"Whatever it is, you'll get it," jibed Baker. "But I'll bet you a
toothpick it isn't a rest. What's exhausted you fellows, anyway?
Counting the easy money?"

"Our professional labours have been very heavy lately," spoke up the
painless one.

"What's biting you fellows?" demanded Baker. "There's nobody here."

Waller indicated Bob by a barely perceptible jerk of the head. Baker
threw back his head and laughed.

"Thought you knew him," said he. "You were all having such a love feast
gab-fest when I blew in. This is Mr. Orde, who bosses this place--and
most of the country around here. If you want to do good to humanity on
this meadow you'd better begin by being good to him. He controls it.
He's humanity with a capital H."

Ten minutes later the four men, cigars alight, a bottle within reach,
were sprawling about the interior of one of the larger tents. Bob was
enjoying himself hugely. It was the first time he had ever been behind
the scenes at this sort of game.

"But that was a good talk, just the same," he interrupted a cynical bit
of bragging.

"Say, wasn't it!" cried Porter. "I got that out of a shoutin'
evangelist. The minute I heard it I saw where it was hot stuff for my
spiel. I'm that way: I got that kind of good eye. I'll be going along
the street and some little thing'll happen that won't amount to nothin'
at all really. Another man wouldn't think twice about it. But like a
flash it comes to me how it would fit in to a spiel. It's like an artist
that way finding things to put in a picture. You'd never spot a dago
apple peddler as good for nothing but