s dark coat, and I recall that he was gazing down at
them, and that his features were distorted by a sentimental smile.

"Come on!" I called to him.

He looked up. His expression was vague.

"Go along," he returned.

"Why don't you come with me now?"

"I'll be there," he replied. "You buy the tickets and check the
baggage." And with that he turned his back.

"Good-by," I called to the young lady. But she was looking up at him and
didn't seem to hear me.

* * * * *

My companion arrived at the station in an old hack, with horses at the
gallop. He was barely in time.

When we were settled in the car, bowling along over the prairies toward
the little junction town of Artesia, I turned to him and inquired how
his work had gone that morning. But at that moment he caught sight,
through the car window, of some negroes sitting at a cabin door, and
exclaimed over their picturesqueness.

I agreed. Then, as the train left them behind, I repeated my question:
"How did your work go?"

"This is very fertile-looking country," said he.

This time I did not reply, but asked:

"Did you finish both sketches?"

"No," he answered. "Not both. There wasn't time."

"Let's see the one you did."

"As a matter of fact," he returned, "I didn't do any. You know how it
is. Sometimes a fellow feels like drawing--sometimes he doesn't. Somehow
I didn't feel like it this morning."

With that he lifted the lapel of his coat and, bending his head
downward, sniffed in a romantic manner at the sickeningly sweet flower
in his buttonhole.

CHAPTER XLV

VICKSBURG OLD AND NEW

I should advise the traveler who is interested in cities not to enter
Vicksburg by the Alabama & Vicksburg Railroad, which has a dingy little
station in a sort of gulch, but by the Yazoo & Mississippi Valley
Railroad--a branch of the Illinois Central--which skirts the river bank
and flashes a large first impression of the city before the eyes of
alighting passengers.

The station itself is a pretty brick colonial building, backed by a neat
if tiny park maintained by the railroad company, and facing the levee
(pronounce "_lev_-vy"), along which the tracks are laid. Beyond the
tracks untidy landing places are scattered along the water front, with
here and there a tall, awkward, stern-wheel river steamer tied up,
looking rather like an old-fashioned New Jersey seacoast hotel, covered
with porches and jimcrack carving, painte