nse of the remoter mysterious ocean, which he had never seen. But he
was impressed and startled by smartly dressed men and women, the
passing of carriages, and a sudden conviction that he was strange and
foreign to what he saw. It had been his cherished intention to call
upon his old partner in his working clothes, and then clap down on the
table before him a draft for ten thousand dollars as _his_ share of
their old claim. But in the face of these brilliant strangers a sudden
and unexpected timidity came upon him. He had heard of a cheap popular
hotel, much frequented by the returning gold-miner, who entered its
hospitable doors--which held an easy access to shops--and emerged in a
few hours a gorgeous butterfly of fashion, leaving his old chrysalis
behind him. Thence he inquired his way; hence he afterwards issued in
garments glaringly new and ill fitting. But he had not sacrificed his
beard, and there was still something fine and original in his handsome
weak face that overcame the cheap convention of his clothes. Making
his way to the post-office, he was again discomfited by the great size
of the building, and bewildered by the array of little square
letter-boxes behind glass which occupied one whole wall, and an equal
number of opaque and locked wooden ones legibly numbered. His heart
leaped; he remembered the number, and before him was a window with a
clerk behind it. Uncle Billy leaned forward.

"Kin you tell me if the man that box 690 b'longs to is in?"

The clerk stared, made him repeat the question, and then turned away.
But he returned almost instantly, with two or three grinning heads
besides his own, apparently set behind his shoulders. Uncle Billy was
again asked to repeat his question. He did so.

"Why don't you go and see if 690 is in the box?" said the first clerk,
turning with affected asperity to one of the others.

The clerk went away, returned, and said with singular gravity, "He was
there a moment ago, but he's gone out to stretch his legs. It's rather
crampin' at first; and he can't stand it more than ten hours at a time,
you know."

But simplicity has its limits. Uncle Billy had already guessed his
real error in believing his partner was officially connected with the
building; his cheek had flushed and then paled again. The pupils of
his blue eyes had contracted into suggestive black points. "Ef you'll
let me in at that winder, young fellers," he said, with equal gravity,
"I'l