had been an animal; from now on he would be human.

But in his enthusiasm of development he forgot that he had grown
attached to the wild, aboriginal life; that the parting might snap
thongs and inflict wounds which even time would not mend or cure. At
times the creek would sing, and the trail would speak, but he banished
the tempters from his mind to make room for his illuminating prospects,
and his wings continued to grow towards maturity. He struggled and freed
himself from the cocoon. He went to Vancouver a caterpillar and returned
a butterfly, and the earthquake which accompanied his debut was equal
to that which destroyed San Francisco. He had sold his farm, which
included the creek, and the trail, and the dug-out, and his salt pork
barrel, for a song, and with his coin and icties about him, and in his
lately acquired form, he invaded Clinton with an accentuated front. The
street was lined with people as though a procession had been going
by--all the sweet and familiar sounds and sights had been sacrificed
criminally, and he was on his way to sip honey from flower to flower.

He sounded about Clinton for some time for a suitable anchorage on which
to materialize the plans and specifications of his mansion, but he did
not drive a stake, because Clinton was very much inferior to his "class"
ideal; it had no electric light, and no water system. So he migrated
south to Ashcroft, and there he pre-empted a large lot and made
arrangements for the foundation of his castle. Out of the ground in a
short period arose one of the most up-to-date bungalows. While the
building was in course of construction Hard Times Hance, who had
repudiated this headline, moved about in his dress suit, stiff hat, silk
gloves, and a cane, and gave such orders to the contractor as he saw
fit. He was looked upon as the most remarkable freak that had ever
invaded the dry belt. And he sprang into society spontaneously. The