gitated by the
passing of a smothered smile.

"Well," the man was saying, "we had been married only a year when I lost
my place and started out to look for work."

By this time he had taken a small pocket knife from his somewhat ragged
vest, clipped the end off the cigar neatly, put the cut end between his
teeth, and the knife back into his pocket. Without pausing in his
narrative (he knew he had but nine minutes) he held out a hand for a
match. The Philosopher pretended not to notice the movement, which was
graceful and perfectly natural. As they turned, up near the engine, the
sorrowful man went into his vest again and brought up a small, silver
match-box which he held carefully in his closed fist, but which snapped
sharply, as the knife had done when he closed it.

"Excuse me," said the Philosopher, reaching for the match-box, "I've
lost my fire."

The melancholy man made a move towards his vest, paused, changed his
mind, and passed over his lighted cigar.

"Go on," said the examining judge, when he had got his cigar going
again.

Now at each turn the Philosopher quickened his pace, and the man, eager
to finish his sad story, walked beside him with a graceful, springy
walk. The man's story was so like his own--so like the tale he had told
to Patsy when the strikers had chased him into a box car--that his heart
must have melted, had it not been for the fact that he was becoming
more and more convinced, as the story grew upon him, that the man was
lying. Now and then he said to himself in spite of himself, "This must
be true," for there were tears in the man's voice, and yet there were
things about him that must be explained before he could ride.

"Patsy," said the Philosopher, pausing before the conductor, "if you'll
stand half the strain, I'll go buy a ticket for this man to Cheyenne."

"N' no," said the man, visibly affected by this unexpected generosity,
"n' no, I can't let you do that. I should be glad of a ride that would
cost you nothing and the company nothing; but I can't--I can't take your
money," and he turned away, touching the cuff of his coat, first to his
right and then to his left eye.

Patsy sighed, and the two men walked again. Five minutes more and the
big engine would begin to crawl from the great shed, and the voyager
began wondering whether he would be on board. The engineer was going
round the engine for the last time. The fireman had spread his fire and
was leaning leisurely on the ar