"
"Why, he says he knowed you out West fifteen years ago."
"So! What kind o' looking chap is he?"
"Youngish face, John; but hair and whiskers as white as snow.
Sorry-looking rooster--seems like he's lost all his friends on earth,
and wa'n't jest sure where to find 'em in the next world."
"I can't imagine who it would be. Let's see--'Lige Clark, he's dead;
Dick Bellinger, Hank Baldwin, Jim Karr, Dave Keller, Bill Parr--can't be
none of them. What's his name?"
"Winthrop--no, Wetherson--no, lemme see--why, no--no, Wainright; that's
it, Wainright; J. E. Wainright."
"Jim Wainright!" says I, "Jim Wainright! I haven't heard a word of him
for years--thought he was dead; but he's a young fellow compared to me."
"Well, he don't look it," said Jack.
After supper I went up to the hotel and asked for J. E. Wainright.
Maybe you think Jim and I didn't go over the history of the "front."
"Out at the front" is the pioneer's ideal of railroad life. To a man who
has put in a few years there the memory of it is like the memory of
marches, skirmishes, and battles in the mind of the veteran soldier.
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