A big smile went over the face of the stranger, wrinkling and puckering it amusingly.
“What’s your name? Mine’s Jim Langford. They call me Wayward,––because I am. I’m a B. Sc. of Edinburgh University; a barrister, by profession only; lazy; fond of books and booze; no darned good; always in trouble; sent out here for the good of my health and for the peace of mind of the family, after a bit of trouble; had ten thousand dollars to start with; spent it all before I woke up. I get fifty dollars a month to keep away from the Old Land.
“Have you a place to sleep to-night? Got any baggage?”
“No!” said Phil, in answer to the second last question. “I haven’t had time to look around yet. My baggage is at the station.”
“Come then! Let’s get your stuff. My landlady has a spare room. I guess she’ll be glad to let you have it. She’s a decent sort, too.”
Phil hesitated a moment.
“If you haven’t got the money, that won’t matter.”
“I have a little;––a very little,––enough for a few days. I’m up here to find work.”
“Well,––come along with me for the time being,” said Langford.