distance from his comrades, smoking silently while they talked and
made merry behind him. He seldom joined in the ribald but suppressed
conversations of the men.

"Have you fellows ever noticed that he don't get any letters from
the States-never seems to expect any?" asked Johnny Rogers, the
one-time foundry man, who sat watching him. Graydon had not been the
subject of conversation, but all knew whom Johnny meant by "he."

"I've noticed that, too," said Joe Adams.

"I got him sized up all right," said one of the Spurrier boys. "His
people don't know where he's at. That feller's a swell at home an'
he's had to skip out. I'll bet my breakfast his name ain't Bansemer.
An' if his people don't know where he's at, how in thunder can they
write to him? See what I mean?"

"Think he's a bank cashier?" asked Sim Relander.

"Naw; it ain't money, it's some girl. I know these swell guys,"
said Rogers. "You're right about his people not knowin' where to
write. He's a mystery, that feller is. I'll tell what I think:
his folks have fired him out--won't recognise him. See? Disgraced
'em, an' all that. That's why he ain't expectin' nothin' from home.
He knows he won't get it."

"I feel kind o' sorry for a feller like that," mused Tom Reagan.
"I had a brother that had to skip once."

"That so? Did he ever come back?"