pinched and emaciated that a sympathetic shiver ran over Lynde as he
glanced at him. He was as thin as an exclamation point. It seemed to
Lynde that the man must be perishing with cold even in that burning June
sunshine. It was not a man, but a skeleton.

"Good heavens, sir!" cried Lynde. "Tell me where I am! What is the name
of this town?"

"Constantinople."

"Constan"--

"--tinople," added the man briskly. "A stranger here?"

"Yes," said Lynde abstractedly. He was busy running over an imaginary
map of the State of New Hampshire in search of Constantinople.

"Good!" exclaimed the anatomy, rustling his dry palms together, "I'll
employ you."

"You'll employ me? I like that!"

"Certainly. I'm a ship-builder."

"I didn't know they built vessels a hundred miles from the coast," said
Lynde.

"I am building a ship--don't say I'm not!"

"Of course I know nothing about it."