invitation to the professional pedestrian.

"You'll hev to move on!" repeated the agent, more sternly.

"I can't," replied the other with a smile. "The car I was--er--attached
to has come to a halt. The engine has left us, and--here we are, I and
the nabobs."

"Be'n ridin' the trucks, eh?"

"No; rear platform. Very comfortable it was, and no interruptions. The
crazy old train stopped so many times during the night that I scarcely
woke up when they sidetracked us here, and the first thing I knew I was
abandoned in this wilderness. As it grew light I began to examine my
surroundings, and discovered you. Glad to meet you, sir."

"You needn't be."

"Don't begrudge me the pleasure, I implore you. I can't blame you for
being gruff and unsociable; were you otherwise you wouldn't reside
at--at--" he turned his head to read the half legible sign on the
station house, "at Chazy Junction. I'm familiar with most parts of the
United States, but Chazy Junction gets my flutters. Why, oh, why in the
world did it happen?"

Mr. Judkins scowled but made no answer. He was wise enough to understand
he was no match in conversation for this irresponsible outcast who knew
the great world as perfectly as the agent knew his junction. He turned
away and stared hard at the silent sleeper, the appearance of which was
not wholly unexpected.