n a whisper or a wheeze. For this, or for some other reason not
apparent, he was a silent man, rarely speaking except when addressed by
a question, and never making conversation with anybody. From the time he
first started independently in the world, he had been in some public
office. Men with dirty work to do had found him wonderfully serviceable,
and, by ways which it would be hard to define to the ordinary mind, he
had so managed that every town and county office, in which there was any
money, had been by turns in his hands.

"Well, Mr. Buffum, how fare ye?" said Jim, walking heartily up to him,
and shaking his hand, his face glowing with good-nature.

Mr. Buffum's attempt to respond to this address ended in a wheeze and a
cough.

"Have ye got room for another boarder to-night? Faith, I never expected
to come to the poor-house, but here I am. I'll take entertainment for
man or beast. Which is the best, and which do you charge the most for?
Somebody's got to keep me to-night, and ye're the man to bid low."

Buffum made no reply, but stooped down, took a sliver from a log, and
began to pick his teeth. Jim watched him with quiet amusement. The more
Mr. Buffum thought, the more furious he grew with his toothpick.

"Pretty tough old beef, wasn't it?" said Jim, with a hearty laugh.

"You go in and see the women," said Mr. Buffum, in a wheezy whisper.

This, to Jim, was equivalent to an honorable reception. He had no doubt
of his ability to make his way with "the women" who, he was fully aware,
had been watching him all the time from the window.

To the women of Tom Buffum's household, a visitor was a godsend.
Socially, they had lived all their lives in a state of starvation. They
knew all about Jim Fenton, and had exchanged many a saucy word with him,
as he had passed their house on his journeys to and from Sevenoaks.

"If you can take up with what we've got," said Mrs. Buffum suggestively.

"In course," responded Jim, "an' I can take up with what ye haven't
got."

"Our accommodations is very crowded," said Mrs. Buffum.

"So is mine to home," responded Jim. "I allers sleep hangin' on a
gambrel, between two slabs."

While Mr. Tom Buffum's "women" were laughing, Jim lifted off his pack,
placed his rifle in the corner of the room, and sat down in front of the
fire, running on with his easygoing tongue through preposterous
stories, and sundry flattering allusions to the beauty and
attractiveness of the women to w