The Meridian times. (Meridian, Idaho) 1909-1938, 1912-09-20

not hear the full story o. mis- wander.
ings for many months We knew he
had sailed from England for Rio in
the cabin de luxe of an English pack.
ct boat From week to week, for pos.
sloly two months. we received letters
from him. Then came the silence
| Ihe silence continued for six
months, until one morning received
a note written on American Line pa
per and postmarked Southampton. It
was signed by Ford.
| Shall arrive on Philadelphia with
IN IL hours after you receive this.
snort OF cash. Do you remember that
ten dollars you owe me?"
That was impudence for you! I
should have known who wrote that
note, without signature However,
clapped a ten-dollar bill In an envel-
ope and mailed 1t promptly. A week
later Ford dropped in to see me.
! Much obliged for the cash, old
man" he said. 1T came in handy.
You see, they trimmed me beautiful
ly In Paris, and started out for Rio
with my steamship ticket and barely
enough coin to last me three weeks.
In fact, when I got to the Chilean
frontier town across the Andes,
was strapped. That made me sick
OF the whole job, and decided it was
time to head for home. There was a
prince of a British consul there.
who loaned me ten-spot and got me
a pass for donkey transportation
across the mountains to the Argen-
tine railroad
Just by blind luck, I'd Clipped &C.
quaintance with the chief engineer of
the construction gang on the Argen-
tine side, and so when l hit him for a
pass to Buenos Ayres, he ponied up
like good one,
Il was feeling pretty disconsoIate
and | went into cafe near the wa
ter front to forget myself for an hour
or two. That was the time when Bra
I'll and the Argentine were seeing
which could build warships the quick
est, you know, and there was a big
Braziliano sitting In the place, with
his feet up, passing remarks to the
|
saw me, he concentrated his attention,
apparently on the supposition that be-
cause was small l must be easy.
stood about two sentences and then |
went for him. We were rolling pro-
miscuously around the restaurant, and
was getting a bit the worst of it,
when little man with an arm like a
steam-iail came through the door. Aft
er he got through with my Brazilian
friend there were no scraps to be
picked up. ....
We'll, we shook hands and told
each other we'd always been longing
to meet, and afterwards we had a
drink. The little man was British
er, captain of a tramp steamer due
to sail the next afternoon, and when
told him of my troubles he clapped
me on the back and offered me free
passage to Rotterdam. I'll have to
put you down on the books as cabin
boy or steward he said. But youlI
do no work. Come as my guest: I'll
be glad to have you He was a prince,
that skipper. Fed me at his own ia.
Bile, gave me his own cigars and wine.
and when we reached Rotterdam he
staked me to Paris.
Aunt Jane was in Paris, fortunate
ly for me, and think she was so
glad at the prospect of getting me
back to America that she divted up
without any side remarks"
l never really knew Citation, the
fifth of my vagabonds. | had been
dining at a club in Picadilly with an
engineering friend, and as we were
passing out through the club parIors
my friend drew me aside to make
room for a big, broad shouIdered
man wearing blue spectacles. That's
Citation" he whispered. He was one
of the principal assistants in the con-
structton of the new trans-Andean
line. He's always had bad eyes, and
the doctor told me he ought not to
work above the snow line, but that
wouldn't do for Citation. He wants
to be where the fun is You see, en-
cheering as science means little to
him. It's the game he likes--the fight
to overmaster some problem. Poor
Citation! Whenever there was a des-
perate job to be done, he was bound
to be on it--and all for beggarly six
or seven pounds a week, suppose"
why do you say Poor ChattonT"
asked.
Because he'll never get over this
latest eye trouble. He got it from the
snow glare, just as the doctors said
he would.
But what will the man do?" | ex-
claimed How is he going to live?"
He'll live-survive, rather" rejoin-
ed my friend, bitterly. His people
have money. But he'll never work
again. Every one who knows him Is
always cut up, And he feels it, too,
although he's deuced plucky about
it."
II you have been in the habit of
frequenting police courts or cheap
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