to him pleasantly and Weary thrust vain longings from him and was
himself again.

For two months he wandered aimlessly and, then, not quite at the point
of going back and not being rich or an idler by nature, he started out,
one gloomy morning in late November, looking for work. He was in
Portland and the city was strange to him, for he had dropped off a
north-bound train the night before.

People hurried past without a glance in his direction, and even after
two months this made him lonesome, coming as he did from a place where
every man hailed him jovially by his adopted name.

There was little that he could do--or would do. He tried digging
ditches for the city, along with a motley collection of the sons of all
nations but his, seemingly.

The first day be blistered both hands and got a "crick" in his back.

The second day, he quit.

On the third day, he brought up at the door of a livery stable. A man
with a slate-colored, silk waistcoat was standing aggressively in the
doorway, one hand deep in his pocket and the other energetically
punctuating the remarks he was making to a droop-shouldered hostler.
Some of the remarks were interesting in the extreme and Weary,
listening, drew a deep sigh of thankfulness that they were not directed
at himself, because his back was still lame and his hands sore, and in
Portland law-abiding citizens are not supposed to "pack" a gun.

The droop-shouldered man waited humbly for the climax--which reached so
high a tension that the speaker rose upon his toes to deliver it, and
drew his right hand from his pocket to aid in the punctuation--when he
pulled his hat down on his head and slunk away.

It was while the orator was gazing contemptuously after him that he
heard Weary cheerfully asking for work. For Weary was a straight
guesser; he knew when he stood in the presence of the Great and Only.
The man wheeled and measured Weary slowly with his eyes--and there
being a good deal of Weary if you measured lengthwise, he consumed
several seconds doing it.

"Humph!" when the survey was over. "What do _you_ know about horses?"
His tone was colored still by the oration he had just delivered, and it
was not encouraging.

Weary looked down upon him and smiled indulgence of the tone. "If you
aren't busy right now, I'll start in and tell yuh. Yuh better sit down
on that bucket whilst I'm doing it--if I'm thorough it'll take time."

"Humph!" said the man again and carefully pared