tarted on a journey. It was midwinter, so he muffled
himself in overcoat and furs, and carried his great fur-lined traveling
cloak, all nicely rolled and strapped, ready for extra occasions.

He was not in the very best humor when the night express reached Albany,
and he had finally changed his quarters from the Central to the Hudson
River Railroad. His arrangements had not been made for spending the
night on the train at all; his plan was to be fairly settled under the
blankets in a New York hotel by this time, but there had been detention
after detention all along his route. So the great man settled himself
with what grace he could, and unstrapped the fur-lined cloak, and made
other preparations for passing a night in the cars, his face, meanwhile,
wearing an ominous frown.

It was not so much the sitting-up all night that troubled him, for Mr.
Hastings was in excellent health, and an excellent traveler, and really
did not so much mind the fatigue; but he was a man accustomed to
carrying out his plans and intentions to the very letter, and it jarred
upon him to have even snow and ice audacious enough to interfere.

There were other travelers that night who had no fur-lined cloaks. One
in particular, who sat near the stove, and made such good use of the
dampers that Mr. Hastings had no use for his cloak, even after
unstrapping it, but flung it into a great furry heap on the nearest seat
behind him, and knew not then, nor ever, that the insignificant little
act was one of the tiny links in the chain of circumstances that were
molding Tode Mall's life.

Tode Mall started on a journey that very evening. He didn't pack his
valise, nor take his overcoat, nor ride to the depot in a carriage. In
fact, his father kicked him out of the cellar like a foot-ball, and bade
him good-by in these words:

"There! get out. And don't let me ever see a sight of your face again."

Tode rolled over once in the snow, then got up and shook himself, and
made prompt answer:

"All right! I'm agreed."

He then stuffed his hands into the ragged pockets of his ragged jacket,
and marched off up town, and because he happened to roll over and come
up with his face turned in the direction of the depot, is the only known
reason why he walked _up_ town instead of _down_.

Apparently he didn't take his father's late treatment very much to
heart.

"He's drunk," he said, philosophically. "That's what's the matter with
him. In about two hours he'