A SCENE ON THE TRAIN.
The slick-looking individual had listened attentively to all that passed between our hero and the farmer.
He waited until the latter had procured his drink of water and then rushed up with a smile on his face.
“I declare!” he exclaimed. “How do you do?” And he extended his hand.
“How do you do?” repeated the farmer, shaking hands slowly. He felt much perplexed, for he could not remember having met the other man before.
“How are matters up on the farm?” went on the stranger.
“Thank you, very good.”
“I—er—I don't think you remember me, Mr. Bean,” went on the slick-looking individual.
“Well, somehow I think I know your face,” answered the old farmer, lamely. He did not wish to appear wanting in politeness.
“You ought to remember me. I spent some time in Haydown Center year before last, selling machines.”