"What's that?"
"It's 'ligion, that's what 'tis. He's great on the Bible an' Church history. He holds service every Sunday in his house, since we've had no parson."
"Do many attend?"
"Naw. Jist him an' his wife, I guess. But Joe's a good, honest feller, an' ye'll like him. But fer pity's sake, keep him off of 'ligion, if ye expect bring them traces back with ye to-day."
Douglas had no trouble in locating the shoe-maker's shop, where he found Joe Benton busy half-soleing a pair of men's boots. He was a man past sixty, grey-haired, and with a smooth-shaven face. His eyes were what arrested Douglas' attention. They were honest eyes, which looked clear and straight into his. There the old man's soul seemed to be shining forth, so expressive were they. Douglas thought he could read in those clear depths an unattainable longing, mingled with an appealing pathos. When he smiled, his whole face was lighted with a remarkable glory, and he appeared no longer a humble shoe-maker, but an uncrowned king. His rude bench was his throne, and the humble shop his royal palace. So it appeared to Douglas, and he wondered if others were affected in the same way.
"Are you Jake June's hired man, the wrestler?" the shoe-maker asked, after Douglas had told him the purpose of his visit.
"Yes, that's who I am," was the reply. "But how in the world did you hear about our wrestling match?"
"Oh, news travels fast in Rixton, especially if Empty Dempster is the carrier."
Douglas sat down upon a bench and observed Joe intently, as he gave the final touch to a shoe in his lap. Many years had passed since he had watched such work, and he recalled the old shoe-maker he used to know when a lad.
"Can you fix the traces to-day?" he enquired. "If so, I might as well wait for them."