“Aha! That’s so. I want to make Two Palms Well before dark.... Wansfell, like a horned-toad on the desert, I changed my outside at Frisco. Alas! I imagined all within--blood--mind--soul had changed!... Went to Denver, St. Louis, an’ looked at the sights, not much disappointed, because my time seemed far ahead. Then I went to my old home. There I had my first jar. Folks all dead! Not a relation livin’. Could not even find my mother’s grave. No one remembered me an’ I couldn’t find any one I ever knew. The village had grown to a town. My old home was gone. The picture of it--the little gray cottage--the vines an’ orchard--lived in my mind. I found the place. All gone! Three new houses there. Forty years is a long time! I didn’t build the church or set out a park for the village of my boyhood.... Then I went on to Chicago, Philadelphia, New York. Stayed long in New York. At first it fascinated me. I felt I wanted to see it out of curiosity. I was lookin’ for some place, somethin’ I expected. But I never saw it. The hotels, theaters, saloons, gamblin’ hells, an’ worse--the operas an’ parks an’ churches--an’ the wonderful stores--I saw them all. Men an’ women like ants rushin’ to an’ fro. No rest, no sleep, no quiet, no peace! I met people, a few good, but most bad. An’ in some hotels an’ places I got to be well known. I got to have a name for throwin’ gold around. Men of business sought my acquaintance, took me to dinners, made much of me--all to get me to invest in their schemes. Women! Aw! the women were my second disappointment! Wansfell, women are like desert mirages. Beautiful women, in silks an’ satins, diamonds blazin’ on bare necks an’ arms, made eyes at me, talked soft an’ sweet, an’ flattered me an’ praised me an’ threw themselves at me--all because they thought I had stacks an’ rolls an’ bags of gold. Never a woman did I meet who liked _me_, who had any thought to hear my story, to learn my hope! Never a kind whisper! Never any keen eye that saw through my outside! “Well, I wasn’t seein’ an’ findin’ the life I’d hoped for. That New York is as near hell as I ever got. I saw men with quiet faces an’ women who seemed happy. But only in the passin’ crowds. I never got to meet any of them. They had their homes an’ troubles an’ happiness, I figured, an’ they were not lookin’ for anyone to fleece. It was my habit to get into a crowd an’ watch, for I come to believe the mass of busy, workin’ ordinary people were good. Maybe if I’d somehow made acquaintance with a few of them it’d have been better. But that wasn’t seein’ life. I thought I knew what I wanted.