Unfastening the mail-pouch, he turned its contents upon the back seat. A heap of loose letters and three well-worn books strewed themselves over the cushion. Frank picked up the books and examined their titles.
"Xenophon's Memorabilia, Euripides' Alcestis and Medea, and a Greek grammar!" exclaimed the astonished youngster. "What are you doing with these college text-books on the La Paz trail?"
"Making up conditions," replied the courier, a blush deepening the brown of his face.
"What are conditions?" asked Henry.
"Oh, blissful ignorance! Why was I not spared the task of enlightening it?" answered the courier. "Conditions are stumbling-blocks placed in the way of successful trackmen, football players, and rowing men by non-appreciative and envious professors."
"'Joseph Gould Hudson, University of Yalvard,'" read Frank from the fly-leaf of the Memorabilia. "Is that your name, Mr. Hudson?"
"I'm so borne on the Yalvard catalogue."
"Please explain, Mr. Hudson," I said, "how a college boy happens to be in Arizona running the gantlet of this mail-route and making up conditions in Greek?"
"I was stroke in the crew that won the championship for Yalvard at New London one year ago, and got behind in these. I was conditioned, and being ashamed to face an angry father, struck out for myself on the Pacific coast. I drifted about from mining-camp to cattle-range until I was dead broke; this place offered, and I took it because I could find nothing else. I've had lots of opportunities for reflection on the Xuacaxélla. I'm the repentant prodigal going home to his father."
"Oh, you are no prodigal, Mr. Hudson," observed Henry. "We've heard all about you; you are too brave."