t of him, he felt himself suddenly
catapulted somewhere in glorious release, then his senses gave way and
he remembered no more for a time.

When he came to, he was lying on the bar-room floor. Someone, whose
face he recollected, was bending over him, holding up his head and
mopping his brow with a wet cloth. He looked into the face and
remembered it. It was the long-legged man with the mop of wavy, auburn
hair, whom he had noticed sitting by the window in abstraction a short
time before.

"Getting better, old man?" said the young fellow good-naturedly,
grinning and showing his great, strong, prominent teeth.

Phil muttered a few inarticulate words of thanks and tried to rise.
The lanky man helped him up, led him over to a bench, set him down and
then sat down beside him.

"Sorry I didn't interfere sooner. Might have saved you that rough
handling," said the stranger. "But to tell you the truth, I thought
you were going to eat Rob Roy McGregor up. Guess you could, too, for
you handle your fists better than any man I have ever seen;--but
you're just as weak as a half-drowned kitten. What's the matter; been
boozing?"

"No!" replied Phil. "I seldom drink."

"Lucky you!" put in the big fellow. "Sick then?"

"Yes!--I--I'm just recovering from a severe illness," answered Phil,
for want of a better excuse.

"Just come into town?"

"I came in off the noon train."

"Any friends?"

"No!"

"Say!--you don't mind me cross-examining you this way, old man? I--I
kind of like your looks."

A big smile went over the face of the stranger, wrinkling and
puckering it amusingly.

"What's your name? Mine's Jim Langford. They call me Wayward,--because
I am. I'm a B. Sc. of Edinburgh University; a barrister, by profession
only; lazy; fond of books and booze; no darned good; always in
trouble; sent out here for the good of my health and for the peace of
mind of the family, after a bit of trouble; had ten thousand dollars
to start with; spent it all before I woke up. I get fifty dollars a
month to keep away from the Old Land.

"Have you a place to sleep to-night? Got any baggage?"

"No!" said Phil, in answer to the second last question. "I haven't had
time to look around yet. My baggage is at the station."

"Come then! Let's get your stuff. My landlady has a spare room. I
guess she'll be glad to let you have it. She's a decent sort, too."

Phil hesitated a moment.

"If you haven't got the money, that won't matter."

"I