"Eat, and good dich thy good heart, Apemantus," said I cordially. Then, resuming my seat, I took leisure to observe him. He was an everyday sight, but one which never loses its interest to me—the bent and haggard wreck of what should have been a fine soldierly man; the honest face sunken and furrowed; the neglected hair and matted beard thickly strewn with grey. His eyes revealed another victim to the scourge of ophthalmia. This malady, by the way, must not be confounded with sandy blight. The latter is acute; the former, chronic.
"Coming from Moama?" I conjectured, at length.
"Well, to tell you the truth, I ain't had anything since yesterday afternoon. Course, you of'en go short when you're travellin'; but I'm a man that don't like to be makin' a song about it."
"Would n't you stand a better show for work on the other side of the river?"
"Eh?"
"Is n't the Vic. side the best for work?" I shouted.
"Yes; takin' it generally. But there's a new saw-mill startin' on this side, seven or eight mile up from here; an' I know the two fellers that owns it— two brothers, the name o' H——. Fact, I got my eyes cooked workin' at a thresher for them. I'm not frightened but what I'll git work at the mill. Fine, off-handed, reasonable fellers."
"Would n't it suit you better to look out for some steady work on a farm?"
"Very carm. Sort o' carm heat. I think there's a thunderstorm hangin' about. We'll have rain before this moon goes out for a certainty. She come in on her back—I dunno whether you noticed?"
"I did n't notice. Don't you find this kind of weather making your eyes worse?"