"It's the very finest life in all the world. I hoped for it myself once, but I was disappointed."
He gave me a quick look of sympathy.
"Wouldn't they let you?"
"Well, they were afraid I'd be hurt—only I knew I wouldn't be—anything to speak of—a couple of fingers, perhaps—"
"Off the left hand," he suggested understandingly.
"Of course,—off the left hand."
"That brakeman on No. 3 has got two off his left hand," was the final comment.
We retraced our steps; but there was yet another butterfly of my namesake's. He led us to a by-path that followed the river bank up to the bridge, running far ahead of us. When we reached him he was seated, dumb with yearning, before a newly painted sign,
"GO TO BUDD'S FOR AN UP-TO-DATE 25 CT. DINNER."
He was obliged to limp that day, for his stone-bruise was coming on finely; but he had gone half a mile out of his way to worship at this wayside shrine. Again he was dreaming. In the days of his opulence he saw himself going to Budd's. Fortunately for his illusions the price was now prohibitive. I had been to Budd's myself.