t
all the rest refused to consent, and the money was given back to the
subscribers. The drayman, Bill and I went off together to find the
tavern--which we finally did.

It was a better tavern than we were used to, and I was a little bashful
when I inquired if a man with a black beard was stopping there, and was
told that there were several.

"What's his name?" asked the clerk.

"'E's a hunchback," said Bill--I had been too diffident to describe him
so.

"Mr. Wisner, of Southport, Wisconsin," said the clerk, "has a back that
ain't quite like the common run of backs. Want to see him?"

He was in a nice room, with a fire burning and was writing at a desk
which opened and shut, and was carried with him when he traveled. He
wore a broadcloth, swallow-tailed coat, a collar that came out at the
sides of his neck and stood high under his ears; and his neck was
covered with a black satin stock. On the bed was a tall, black beaver,
stove-pipe hat. There were a great many papers on the table and the bed,
and the room looked as if it had been used by crowds of people--the
floor was muddy about the fireplace, and there were tracks from the door
to the cheap wooden chairs which seemed to have been brought in to
accommodate more visitors than could sit on the horsehair chairs and
sofa that appeared to belong in the room. Mr. Wisner looked at us
sharply as we came in, and shook hands first with Bill and then with me.

"Glad to see you again," said he heartily. "Glad to see you again! I
want to tell you some more about Wisconsin. I haven't told you the half
of its advantages."

I saw that he thought we had been there before, and was about to correct
his mistake, when Bill told him that that's what we had come for.

"What you said about Wisconsin," said Bill, winking at me, "has sort of
got us all worked up."

"Is it a good country for a boy to locate in?" I asked.

"A paradise for a boy!" he said, in a kind of bubbly way. "And for a
poor man, it's heaven! Plenty of work. Good wages. If you want a home,
it's the only God's country. What kind of land have you been farming in
the past?"

Bill said that he had spent his life plowing the seas, but that all the
fault I had was being a landsman. I admitted that I had farmed some
near Herkimer.

"And," sneered Mr. Wisner crushingly, "how long does it take a man to
clear and grub out and subdue enough land in Herkimer County to make a
living on? Ten years! Twenty years! Thirty ye