les his eyes
shone benevolently as he indicated an easy-looking chair. I took it. It
promptly collapsed under me.

"Ah, excuse me," he said; "you're not onto the combination of that
chair. I'll fix it."

He performed some operation on it which made it less unstable, and I sat
down gingerly.

I was in a little log-cabin on the hill overlooking the town. Through
the bottle window the light came dimly. The walls showed the bark of
logs and tufts of intersecting moss. In the corner was a bunk over which
lay a bearskin robe, and on the little oblong stove a pot of beans was
simmering.

The Pote finished his dishwashing and joined us, pulling on an old
Tuxedo jacket.

"Whew! Glad that job's over. You know, I guess I'm fastidious, but I
can't bear to use a plate for more than three meals without passing a
wet rag over it. That's the worst of having refined ideas, they make
life so complex. However, I mustn't complain. There's a monastic
simplicity about this joint that endears it to me. And now, having
immolated myself on the altar of cleanliness, I will solace my soul with
a little music."

He took down a banjo from the wall and, striking a few chords, began to
sing. His songs seemed to be original, even improvisations, and he sang
them with a certain quaintness and point that made them very piquant. I
remember one of the choruses. It went like this:

"In the land of pale blue snow
Where it's ninety-nine below,
And the polar bears are dancing on the plain,
In the shadow of the pole,
Oh, my Heart, my Life, my Soul,
I will meet thee when the ice-worms nest again."

Every now and then he would pause to make some lively comment.

"You've never heard of the blue snow, Cheechako? The rabbits have blue
fur, and the ptarmigans' feathers are a bright azure. You've never had
an ice-worm cocktail? We must remedy that. Great dope. Nothing like
ice-worm oil for salads. Oh, I forgot, didn't give you my card."

I took it. It was engraved thus:

OLLIE GABOODLER.

Poetic Expert.

Turning it over, I read:

Graduate of the University of Hard Knocks.
All kinds of verse made to order with efficiency and
dispatch.
Satisfaction guaranteed or money returned.
A trial solicited.
In Memoriam Odes a specialty.
Ballads, Rondeaux and Sonnets at m