that, what did you say?"

"I told him I wasn't a cow," Tim answered.

There was no controverting such a reply, and though my sympathies were
with the pessimistic Weston, I dared not raise my voice in defence of
his logic as against this young brother. Tim seemed to think that the
fact that he was not a cow turned from him all the force of Weston's
philosophy, and insisted on going blindly on in search of another cud.

"He laughed when I said that," Tim continued, "and he said he guessed
there was no sense in using figures of speech to me, but he was willing
to bet that some time I would come to his way of thinking. I told him
that perhaps I would when I had seen as much of men and things as he
had; but now I looked about me with the mind and the eye of a yokel.
That was just what I wanted to escape. He was himself talking to me
from a vantage-point of superior knowledge, and the consciousness of my
own inferiority was one of the main things to spur me on."

"At that he gave you up?" said I.

"He gave me up," Tim answered; "and after all, Mark, old Weston is a
fine fellow. He said that there was just one thing for me to do, and
that was to see and learn for myself. So he wrote to his partner
to-day, and I go in the morning."

"But must you go on a day's notice?"

"The quicker the better, Mark; and you see I haven't been letting any
grass grow under my feet. When Weston and I reached our conclusion, I