of the prairies had never let him feel. He felt cramped for room,
as though, should he draw as full a breath as he wished, it would
exhaust the supply. A big freshly-shaven policeman strolled by, eying
him suspiciously. It gave the young man the impression of being a
prisoner out on good behavior; and in an indefinite way it almost
insulted his self-respect. For the lack of something better to do he
watched the minion of the law as he pursued his beat. Not Ben Blair
alone, but every person the officer passed, went through this
challenging inspection. The countryman had been too much preoccupied to
notice that he had companions; but now that his interest was aroused, he
began inspecting the occupants of the other benches. The person nearest
him was a little old man in a crumpled linen suit. Most of the time his
nose was close to his morning paper; but now and then he raised his face
and looked away with an absent expression in his faded near-sighted
eyes. Was he enjoying his present life? Ben would have taken his oath to
the contrary. Again there flashed over him the impression of a prison
with this fellow-being in confinement. There was indescribable pathos in
that dull retrospective gaze, and Ben looked away. In the land from
which he came there could not be found such an example of hopeless and
useless age. There the aged had occupation,--the care of their
children's children, a garden, an interest in crops and growing things,
a fame as prophets of weather,--but such apathy as this, never.

A bit farther away was another type, also a man, badly dressed and
unshaven. His battered felt hat was drawn low over the upper half of his
face, and he was stretched flat upon the narrow bench. He was far too
long for his bed, and to accommodate his superfluous length his knees
were bent up like a jack-knife. Carrying with them the baggy
trousers,--he wore no underclothes,--they left a hairy expanse between
their ends and the yellow, rusty shoes. His chest rose and fell in the
motion of sleep.

Ben Blair had seen many a human derelict on the frontier; the country
was full of them,--adventurers, searchers after lost health--popularly
denominated "one-lungers"--soldiers of fortune; but he had never known
such a class as this man represented,--useless cumberers of the earth,
wanderers by day, sleepers on the benches of public parks by night. Had
he been a student of sociology he might have found a certain morbid
interest in the spe