"How old was the man?" interrupted Hiram quickly.
"He is twenty-three years old this very month," replied the man from the back seat of the carryall.
"He looks older," said the bewhiskered farmer.
"Of course, you have no photograph of him?" asked Hiram slowly.
"Wish I had!" exclaimed the other man. "I would plaster this whole country with reproductions of it if I had one."
"Yes? Well," said Hiram, "I do not know any such man. At least, I do not remember any such asking me for work or passing this farm."
"Well!" sighed the bewhiskered man, and took up his reins.
"If you should ever see such a person let me hear about it, will you?" asked the other quickly, and thrust his hand into the rain with a card in it.
"What did he do?" asked Hiram as the gray horses started.
"He ran away from me, young fellow," the bearded man said shortly and grimly, and the carryall rolled away.