isticated garb and
guileless mien. Later, when Steve went into the smoker, he struck
up acquaintance with him; initiated by the mere demand for a light,
continued through community of interest, as both being evidently
non-urban.

A voluble and open-hearted person, the stranger, displaying
much specie during their not infrequent visits to the buffet for
refreshment of the jocund grape, where they vied with each other in
liberality, and one who naively imparted his private history without
reticence. A lumberman, who had risen from the ranks; a Non-Com. of
Industry, so to speak, who, having made his pile, was now, impelled by
filial piety, revisiting his old New England Home.

This touching confidence so ingratiated the bluff and hearty son of
toil to the unsuspicious cowboy, that he, in turn, began, to ooze
information at every pore. Steve Thompson was his name; miner of
Butte, Montana. He had, after years of struggle and defeat, made
a lucky strike. He had bonded his mine to New York parties--the
Copper-bottom, just to the left of the High Line Trail from Anaconda
to Philipsburgh; receiving $10,000 down for a quarter interest, giving
option on two-thirds remainder for $50,000, if, after six months'
development work, the mine justified its promise. It had proved all
his fancy painted it; he was on his way to the big town, to be paid
the balance on the sixteenth, at the office of--where is that
letter? Oh, yes, here it is--"Atwood, Strange & Atwood, 25 Broad
St."--retaining a one-fourth interest. He was going to see the sights.
Possibly he would take a trip round the world.

Incited by judicious interest of his auditor, he prattled on and on,
till the lumberman--(Dick Barton, the name of him)--was possessed with
the salient points of his past, present and future; embellished by a
flood of detail and personal reminiscence. It is to be regretted that
the main points were inaccurate and apocryphal, the collateral details
gratuitous improvisations, introduced for the sake of local color.

"For," Steve reasoned, "evidently this party is a seeker after
knowledge; it is better to siphon than to be pumped. Doubtless it will
be as bread upon the waters."

Freely did he gush and freely buy--(the bulk of his money, in large
bills, was safely wadded at the bottom of the six-shooter scabbard
under his arm, his .45 on guard--but his well-filled billbook was much
in evidence). So thoroughly charmed was Barton that he lamented loud