Then, Richard Sutton came into the mountains of the Blue Ridge. He chanced on Zeke, made use of the lad as a guide. Soon mutual liking and respect developed. Sutton was a manufacturer of tree-nails--the wooden pins used in ships' timbers. Here in the ranges was an abundance of locust timber, the best for his need. And there was much talk of a branch railway to come. His alert business imagination saw that a factory located at the source of supply would be advantageous. He saw, too, the capacity for development in his young friend. Zeke's familiarity with the region might be valuable--more valuable still his popularity and the respect accorded him in the community. Sutton suggested to the young man that he should come to New York presently, there to learn the details of manufacture, with the prospect of return, later on, to manage the business in the mountains. Naturally, the project was splendid to Zeke's ambition. His only fear had been lest his departure be delayed by lack of money, for pride would not let him confess his extremity to Sutton. There must be some cash in hand for his mother's support, until he should be able to send her more. Then, as he fretted, opportunity favored him anew, for a surveying party came to run a railroad branch north to Stone Mountain. He was employed as ax-man and assistant cook. His wages solved the difficulty, so far as his mother's need was concerned. For the rest, he took only a small sum to his own use, since he was minded to work his way north on shipboard from Norfolk. It was in accord with such high hopes that this May morning found him tramping, barefooted, into Joines' store, with the black oilcloth valise slung from his shoulder. The halt here was a necessary feature in Zeke's itinerary. On a previous visit to the store, he had purchased a pair of serviceable, if rather ungainly, shoes. Since he would have no occasion for their use at home, he had saved himself the trouble of carrying them to and fro. "I reckon I'll take them-thar shoes o' mine," he said to the grizzled proprietor, after an exchange of friendly greetings with the few loungers present. These were well aware of his planned departure, though ignorant of his definite aims. "Ye hain't a-goin' to put 'em on yit, be ye?" the storekeeper inquired, solicitously. "Not till I git to North Wilkesboro'," Zeke answered, to the obvious relief of the assembly, as he opened the bag. While he was busy stowing the shoes, the onlookers commented cynically on the follies of fashion. "An' I've hearn tell," one concluded, "that durn-nigh everybody done war shoes in the city, all year roun'." Perhaps the young man felt a pleasant glow of superiority in reflecting on the fact that such following of city fashion would soon distinguish him. But his innocent vanity was not to be unduly flattered.