He began feeling a little lonesome. He had resolved to brave the fascinating eyes of the girl of the restaurant again, and perhaps speak to her if occasion offered, when the door opened and three men came into the lounging room. Two of them scraped chairs to the table and from a drawer took a dirty pack of cards and a homemade cribbage board, with headless matches for markers. The third took from his pocket a folded newspaper and sat down at the window opposite Hiram. He at once began reading, and seemed not to be a companion of the other two. Hiram took note that he perused the want-ad sheets. Hiram studied the two at cards. He resolved that he did not like their unkempt looks, so turned his attention to the man with the paper. In dress this man was in a class with the other two, though perhaps a little better groomed. But a careful observer would have taken note of certain finer characteristics in the face. It was the face of a man in the thirties, robust and good-natured, with bushy brows, slate-blue eyes, and a nose that would have been termed Grecian if it had not been for a semiconical twist to the left. He was of stalky build, carefully shaved that morning, and wore a dingy turndown collar. His shoes, though scuffed with wear, were polished. In the midst of this scrutiny the man suddenly lowered the paper and leveled his eyes at Hiram. The look almost said "What do you want?" in a disinterested though not antagonistic way. Hiram was caught unawares. He felt the question and had answered it, to cover his embarrassment, before he knew the words were coming. "D'ye find any jobs in the paper?" The two at cards looked quickly at Hiram and shrugged, and the game went on in silence, as before. "What d'ye follow?" asked the man with the twisted nose in a sort of rollicking voice by no means unpleasant. "D'ye mean what c'n I do?" The man with the paper nodded. Hiram scraped his chair a foot closer. "Why, I don't exactly know. I'm willin' to do anything--that is, try." The slate-blue eyes quizzically studied Hiram a little longer, then settled on the paper once more. A few moments they scanned the column. Then: "Maybe some o' these'll look attractive ol'-timer. 'Wanted three bushelmen; one coat-maker; first-class pants operator; shoe shiner; two farm carpenters, Arizona, four dollars a day, fare refunded; two carpenters, city, five dollars a day; one hundred muckers, New Mexico, two-fifty day; one trammer, three-fifty day; one hundred laborers, New Mexico, three dollars day; porter in bakery, city, must be sober; boy, sixteen years old, make himself generally useful in pickle plant; two jerkline drivers--must be good, southern California; cooks, waiters, teamsters, muckers galore. Call and see us. Morgan & Stroud, Four-hundred-and-fifteen Clay Street.'" He lowered the paper and once more fixed the slate-blue eyes on Hiram. "There you are, ol'-timer--pick yer road to wealth and prominence."