He reached Chicago the second morning after starting, and took a room at the Palmer House, to rest for a few days while he was deciding what direction he would take from that point.
The following day, after a good night’s sleep and a fine breakfast, he strolled into the smoking-room with a morning paper to idle away an hour or so and read the news.
There were several people in the room, but he paid no attention to them more than to cast a sweeping glance around; then, seating himself by a window, he lighted a cigar and was soon buried in the contents of his paper.
He looked through one-half of it, and then laid it aside, taking up the other, when a deep, gruff voice just behind him remarked:
“I say, stranger, could you spare a part of that there paper? I’ve read yesterday’s Inter-Ocean about through, and would like something a trifle fresher.”
Everet turned to see who was addressing him, and found a man, every bit as rough looking as his voice had sounded, sitting near him.
He was evidently a miner or ranger, but had an honest, open face which at once attracted the young Southerner.
He passed him that portion of his paper which he had read, receiving his brief thanks with a courteous bow, and then resumed his interrupted reading.
He sat there for perhaps an hour longer, until he grew tired of keeping still, and was contemplating going out for a stroll, when the man addressed him again:
“I take it you’re a stranger in these parts,” he remarked, with a keen, comprehensive glance over the young man.