at gait and that general air of the
vagrant--snapped himself about, located the noise, stared at the post,
and then hurried to it. He made sure that there was no one in sight. He
scooped all into his arms, climbed the fence and trotted into the woods.
He kept looking behind him as if he feared pursuit. It was plain from
his disturbed demeanor that he was much perplexed and was chased by the
uncomfortable thought that he was stealing this property. He bestowed so
much attention behind him that he paid but little attention to what was
ahead of him, and so he ran down into a little bowl of a valley among
the trees and stopped short there, for he had come upon a man.

It was the man who called himself Walker Farr.

The man was kneeling beside a tiny fire, toasting bread on the end of a
beech twig. He held the twig in one hand and an open book in the other.
He looked up without changing his position when the tramp came charging
down the hillside.

He had wide-open, brown eyes, this man in the hollow. The eyes were not
merely wide open on account of surprise at this irruption--one could see
that they were naturally that way--keenly observant eyes. He had hair as
brown as his eyes; his cap was on the ground beside him.

But the tramp was not taking account of the attractions of this
stranger; he was more interested in searching for flaws.

He had been frightened at first sight of the man--for the tramp had the
timidity of his kind; now he began to feel cheered. This stranger in the
hollow had not been shaved recently, his clothing was unkempt, his
shoes bore the marks of a long hike. He was cooking in the open--plain
indication of the nomad.

"Well, I say, bo," chaffed the tramp, shifting from fright to high
spirit with the hysteria of weak natures. "I'm sure glad to see one of
the good old sort. I didn't know what I was dropping in on when I fell
down that hill. But it's all right, hey? I'm on the road. My name is
Boston Fat, and my monacker is a bean-pot."

The brown eyes moved slowly from the grinning face to the garments
heaped in the man's arms. They were cold and critical eyes and there was
no humor in them.

"I do not do business during my lunch-hours, my man. I do not desire to
change tailors just yet and I do not buy stolen property."

His chilliness did not dampen the other's good nature.

"Oh, that's all right, old top. I'm no thief. These clothes were hung
on a fence-post just above here on the road. I r