It was still two hours before the Land Office would be open. Thorpe ate breakfast at the depot and wandered slowly up Jefferson Avenue to Woodward, a strange piece of our country's medievalism in modern surroundings. He was so occupied with his own thoughts that for some time he remained unconscious of the attention he was attracting. Then, with a start, he felt that everyone was staring at him. The hour was early, so that few besides the working classes were abroad, but he passed one lady driving leisurely to an early train whose frank scrutiny brought him to himself. He became conscious that his broad hat was weather-soiled and limp, that his flannel shirt was faded, that his “pepper and salt” trousers were patched, that moccasins must seem as anachronistic as chain mail. It abashed him. He could not know that it was all wild and picturesque, that his straight and muscular figure moved with a grace quite its own and the woods', that the bronze of his skin contrasted splendidly with the clearness of his eye, that his whole bearing expressed the serene power that comes only from the confidence of battle. The woman in the carriage saw it, however. “He is magnificent!” she cried. “I thought such men had died with Cooper!” Thorpe whirled sharp on his heel and returned at once to a boarding-house off Fort Street, where he had “outfitted” three months before. There he reclaimed his valise, shaved, clothed himself in linen and cheviot once more, and sauntered slowly over to the Land Office to await its opening. Chapter XXIII At nine o'clock neither of the partners had appeared. Thorpe entered the office and approached the desk. “Is there a telegram here for Harry Thorpe?” he inquired. The clerk to whom he addressed himself merely motioned with his head toward a young fellow behind the railing in a corner. The latter, without awaiting the question, shifted comfortably and replied: “No.” At the same instant steps were heard in the corridor, the door opened, and Mr. Morrison appeared on the sill. Then Thorpe showed the stuff of which he was made. “Is this the desk for buying Government lands?” he asked hurriedly. “Yes,” replied the clerk. “I have some descriptions I wish to buy in.” “Very well,” replied the clerk, “what township?” Thorpe detailed the figures, which he knew by heart, the clerk took from a cabinet the three books containing them, and spread them out on the counter. At this moment the bland voice of Mr. Morrison made itself heard at Thorpe's elbow. “Good morning, Mr. Smithers,” it said with the deliberation of the consciously great man. “I have a few descriptions I would like to buy in the northern peninsula.” “Good morning, Mr. Morrison. Archie there will attend to you. Archie, see what Mr. Morrison wishes.”