Yes, Julius was undeniably a tenderfoot steeped in all the infamy that the term implies. The newness of his outfit, his awkward manner of strapping the same to the animal’s back, and his own genial and unsuspecting countenance, all united to insult every acclimated Californian, and particularly the group before which he now paused. Julius was short, rather fat, and benevolent looking; with a big head, slightly bald, and a smooth, round face and blue eyes, expressive of utter and perfect confidence in all mankind. He stood irresolute a moment, and then, with an appealing look upon his face, said, tentatively, “How do you do, gentlemen? I presume this is Nugget Bar.” Now according to all preconceived notions of Julius, the tall, thin landlord, who was apparently very lazy, and whose name, by the way, was Sam Turner, should have been bluff and hearty looking, and should have at once replied in the bluff, hearty manner of landlords (in the books Julius had read), “Right ye air, stranger, and who mout ye be?” But the owner in fee simple of Nugget Bar’s sole hostelry was shamefully ignorant of the social requirements of a man in his position; indeed he was distinctly permeated by an air of social irresponsibility, and he only said, in a very deliberate way, without evincing the slightest curiosity regarding a possible patron: “Ya-a-s, I presume ’tis; leastwise what’s left uv it.” Again spoke Julius, with the unuttered appeal for comradeship still his predominant facial expression: “Well, I’m Julius Anderly. ‘Jule’ mother always calls me at home, and that’s way back in Ohio, you know.” The company remained unmoved by this piece of family intelligence, with the exception of a little dark man, lacking, physically, an eyebrow, and mentally, a happy disposition, who volunteered the remark that he “wunst had a cousin die in Ohio.” Julius ventured to lean against one of the supports of the wooden awning and continued: “Things have been going pretty bad with our folks back there for some time. Pa died—let me see, this is July—three years ago last March, and after that the support of ma and the girls fell to me, which was about all pa had to leave, except the home. I guess we’d pulled through all right enough if the firm I had been keeping books for for over ten years hadn’t up and failed—went clean under and hadn’t a cent left.” The various members of the group here expressed to each other, ocularly, their contempt for any man who “kept books,” all except the little dark man, whose face plainly expressed an inward conviction to the effect that the failure of that firm was due solely to Julius’s defective method of keeping said books. It was rather discouraging, but Julius continued: “And there I was out of a job, which was pretty bad, I call it. Times were hard all round there and I couldn’t seem to get in anywhere else.