saw himself in a vision of the near future enter a bank and thump down a
bag of gold-dust. Then he saw the new, clean money the man would hand him
in exchange, bills with round zeroes half covered by being folded over,
and heavy, satisfactory gold pieces. And then he saw the blue water that
twinkles beneath Boston. His fingers came again on his trunk check. He
had his ticket, too. And as dawn now revealed the gray country to him,
his eye fell casually upon a mile-post: "Omaha, 876." He began to watch
for them:--877, 878. But the trunk would really get to Omaha.

"What are yu' laughin' about?" asked Honey.

"Oh, the wheels."

"Wheels?"

"Don't yu' hear 'em?" said Lin. "'Variety,' they keep a-sayin'. 'Variety,
variety.'"

"Huh!" said Honey, with scorn. "'Ker-chunka-chunk' 's all I make it."

"You're no poet," observed Mr. McLean.

As the train moved into Evanston in the sunlight, a gleam of dismay shot
over Lin's face, and he ducked his head out of sight of the window, but
immediately raised it again. Then he leaned out, waving his arm with a
certain defiant vigor. But the bishop on the platform failed to notice
this performance, though it was done for his sole benefit, nor would Lin
explain to the inquisitive Wiggin what the matter was. Therefore, very
naturally, Honey drew a conclusion for himself, looked quickly out of the
window, and, being disappointed in what he expected to see remarked,