"Xenophon's Memorabilia, Euripides' Alcestis and Medea, a Greek grammar!" exclaimed the astonished youngster. "What are you doing with these college text-books on the La Paz trail?"
"Making up conditions," replied the courier, a blush deepening the brown of his face.
"What are conditions?" asked Henry.
"Oh blissful ignorance! Why was I not spared the task of enlightening it?" answered the courier. "Conditions are stumbling-blocks placed in the way of successful rowing men and footballists by non-appreciative college professors."
"'Joseph Gould Baldwin, University of Yalvard,'" read Frank from the fly-leaf of the Memorabilia. "Is that your name, Mr. Baldwin?"
"I'm so borne on the catalogue."
During this conversation the letter had been handed to me, but I held it unopened in my hand while I listened.
"Please explain, Mr. Baldwin," I said, "how a college-boy happens to be in Arizona running the gauntlet of this mail route and making up conditions in Greek?"
"I was stroke in the celebrated crew that won the championship for Yalvard at New London a year ago, and got behind in these. I was conditioned, and being ashamed to go home, struck out for myself on the Pacific coast. I drifted about from mining-camp to cattle ranch until I was dead broke. This place offered, and I took it because I could find nothing else. I've had lots of opportunities for reflection on the Xuacaxélla. I'm the repentant prodigal going home to his father."
"Oh, you are no prodigal, Mr. Baldwin," observed Henry. "We've heard about you; you are too brave."