Kennedy had an excellent farm under a fine state of cultivation. Besides the overseer, he kept a stout, hulking boy, and at times, when needed, extra hands were hired. All the buildings were in perfect repair, and painted a clean white. The house was a big, square, old-fashioned affair, with fireplaces and a wide veranda. Kennedy’s sister, a widow by the name of Malone, was the housekeeper. “I’m going to let you take a day or two to get the hang of things around the place,” said Kennedy, as he showed Locke into a big, square corner chamber with four windows, two of which opened toward the east. “There’s no hurry about your striking in to work, as it’s a bit slack just now.” The new man muttered his thanks, standing in the middle of the room and looking around in a manner which seemed to indicate slight surprise over this sort of treatment, which, perhaps, was scarcely what he had expected. Through the open door, as he departed, Jack saw him seat himself by one of the windows, and, with his head resting on his hand, look out at the softly rustling trees, the broad fields beyond, and the little lake on which the afternoon sunshine was shimmering. There was something pathetic and lonely in his pose and manner, and to himself, as he descended the stairs, Jack muttered: “Queer――mighty queer!” CHAPTER XXVII DID HE REMEMBER? After a hearty supper, at which the new hand met Mrs. Malone, Kennedy invited him out onto the veranda, where they sat while Jack puffed at his pipe. “You don’t smoke?” said Kennedy. “I don’t think so,” was the reply. “Drink?” “I don’t know. I’ve been a wild one in my day, pal. Hit the high places, and hit ’em hard. Cards were my trouble. I was thinking I’d like to find three or four good sports and get up a little game.” “Well, you won’t find them round here,” growled old Jack, puffing savagely at his pipe. “Nothing doing, Left――er――Stranger.” The other betrayed no disappointment. “We’ll just sit and talk things over comfortable like,” said Kennedy, glancing at him sidewise. “How’d you get the notion you wanted to go to farming?” “It wasn’t my notion; it was the pill slinger’s.” “You don’t look like there’s been anything the matter with your health.” “I’m pale. That comes from confinement.” “You’re brown as an Injun――or a baseball player.” Lefty rubbed his head. “I know what I’ve been told,” he said, with a slight touch of resentment. “Well, don’t swaller everything the doctors hand out to you. How do you like my ranch?” “It’s very comfortable. I like it here, only I seem to miss something. It’s quiet.” “That’s the way I feel. You see, when a man has been in the hot of Big League baseball year after year, it’s a big change to settle down this fashion. But we all have to take up something after we’ve had our day at the game. If I’d ever married it might ’a’ seemed different.” “You never married?”