ke for many a day," said Harpar, as we went
along. "If you 'd have said the half of that to one of our 'Beaks,' I
think I know where you 'd be. But you seem to understand the fellows
well. Mayhap you have lived much abroad?"

"A great deal. I am a sort of citizen of the world," said I, with a
jaunty easiness.

"For a citizen of the world you appear to have strange tastes in your
companionship. How did you come to forgather with these creatures?"

I tried the timeworn cant about seeing life in all its
gradations,--exploring the cabin as well as visiting the palace, and
so on; but there was a rugged sort of incredulity in his manner that
checked me, and I could not muster the glib rudeness which usually stood
by me on such occasions.

"You 're not a man of fortune," said he, dryly, as I finished; "one sees
that plainly enough. You 're a fellow that should be earning his bread
somehow; and the question is,--Is this the kind of life that you ought
to be leading? What humbug it is to talk about knowing the world and
such-like. The thing is, to know a trade, to understand some art, to
be able to produce something, to manufacture something, to convert
something to a useful purpose. When you 've done that, the knowledge of
men will come later on, never be afraid of that. It's a school that we
never miss one single day of our lives. But here we are; this is the
'Pig.' Now, what will you have for breakfast? Ask the vagabonds, too,
and tell them there's a wide choice here; they have everything you can
mention in this little inn."

An excellent breakfast was soon spread out before us, and though my
humble companions did it the most ample justice, I sat there, thoughtful
and almost sad. The words of that stranger rang in my ears like a
reproach and a warning. I knew how truly he had said that I was not a
man of fortune, and it grieved me sorely to think how easily he saw it.
In my heart of hearts I knew it was the delusion I loved best To appear
to the world at large an eccentric man of good means, free to do what
he liked and go where he would, was the highest enjoyment I had ever
prepared for myself; and yet here was a coarse, commonplace sort of
man,--at least, his manners were unpolished and his tone underbred,--and
he saw through it all at once.

I took the first opportunity to slip away unobserved from the company,
and retired to the little garden of the inn, to commune with myself and
be alone. But ere I had been many