“And there’s where he was mistaken. Why, he mighty near starved. And I reckon he would have starved sure enough, if some jour’ printer or other hadn’t took pity on him and got him a place as apprentice. So he learnt the trade, and then he was all right—but it was a close call. Once he thought he had _got_ to haul in his pride and holler for his father and—why, you’re sighing again. Is anything the matter with you?—does my clatter—” “Oh, _dear_—no. Pray go on—I like it.” “Yes, you see, he’s been over here ten years; he’s twenty-eight, now, and he ain’t pretty well satisfied in his mind, because he can’t get reconciled to being a mechanic and associating with mechanics, he being, as he says to me, a _gentleman_, which is a pretty plain letting-on that the boys ain’t, but of course I know enough not to let _that_ cat out of the bag.” “Why—would there be any harm in it?” “Harm in it? They’d lick him, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t _you?_ Of course you would. Don’t you ever let a man say you ain’t a gentleman in _this_ country. But laws, what am I thinking about? I reckon a body would think twice before he said a cowboy wasn’t a gentleman.” A trim, active, slender and very pretty girl of about eighteen walked into the room now, in the most satisfied and unembarrassed way. She was cheaply but smartly and gracefully dressed, and the mother’s quick glance at the stranger’s face as he rose, was of the kind which inquires what effect has been produced, and expects to find indications of surprise and admiration. “This is my daughter Hattie—we call her Puss. It’s the new boarder, Puss.” This without rising. The young Englishman made the awkward bow common to his nationality and time of life in circumstances of delicacy and difficulty, and these were of that sort; for, being taken by surprise, his natural, lifelong self sprang to the front, and that self of course would not know just how to act when introduced to a chambermaid, or to the heiress of a mechanics’ boarding house. His other self—the self which recognized the equality of all men—would have managed the thing better, if it hadn’t been caught off guard and robbed of its chance. The young girl paid no attention to the bow, but put out her hand frankly and gave the stranger a friendly shake and said: “How do you do?” p109.jpg (23K) Then she marched to the one washstand in the room, tilted her head this way and that before the wreck of a cheap mirror that hung above it, dampened her fingers with her tongue, perfected the circle of a little lock of hair that was pasted against her forehead, then began to busy herself with the slops. “Well, I must be going—it’s getting towards supper time. Make yourself at home, Mr. Tracy, you’ll hear the bell when it’s ready.”