ean.
Uncle Billy shuddered. What if it had been his fate to seek Uncle Jim
there!

"Dar's yar Presidio!" said the negro coachman a few moments later,
pointing with his whip, "and dar's yar Wash'woman's Bay!"

Uncle Billy stared. A huge quadrangular fort of stone with a flag
flying above its battlements stood at a little distance, pressed
against the rocks, as if beating back the encroaching surges; between
him and the fort but farther inland was a lagoon with a number of
dilapidated, rudely patched cabins or cottages, like stranded driftwood
around its shore. But there was no mansion, no block of houses, no
street, not another habitation or dwelling to be seen!

Uncle Billy's first shock of astonishment was succeeded by a feeling of
relief. He had secretly dreaded a meeting with his old partner in the
"haunts of fashion"; whatever was the cause that made Uncle Jim seek
this obscure retirement affected him but slightly; he even was thrilled
with a vague memory of the old shiftless camp they had both abandoned.
A certain instinct---he knew not why, or less still that it might be
one of delicacy--made him alight before they reached the first house.
Bidding the carriage wait; Uncle Billy entered, and was informed by a
blowzy Irish laundress at a tub that Jim Foster, or "Arkansaw Jim,"
lived at the fourth shanty "beyant." He was at home, for "he'd
shprained his fut." Uncle Billy hurried on, stopped before the door of
a shanty scarcely less rude than their old cabin, and half timidly
pushed it open. A growling voice from within, a figure that rose
hurriedly, leaning on a stick, with an attempt to fly, but in the same
moment sank back in a chair with an hysterical laugh--and Uncle Billy
stood in the presence of his old partner! But as Uncle Billy darted
forward, Uncle Jim rose again, and this time with outstretched hands.
Uncle Billy caught them, and in one supreme pressure seemed to pour out
and transfuse his whole simple soul into his partner's. There they
swayed each other backwards and forwards and sideways by their still
clasped hands, until Uncle Billy, with a glance at Uncle Jim's bandaged
ankle, shoved him by sheer force down into his chair.

Uncle Jim was first to speak. "Caught, b'gosh! I mighter known you'd
be as big a fool as me! Look you, Billy Fall, do you know what you've
done? You've druv me out er the streets whar I was makin' an honest
livin', by day, on three crossin's! Yes," he laughed for