ing my right arm I could tell whether my bank account was all right or not.
Father was always careful at figures and accurate in calculations, so he figured in giving me the change I was to have in my pockets, a day’s allowance extra, in case of a washout, or something, and finally we started for the train. All along the streets were lined with people. Silverton, as I was likely seeing it for the last time, looked more beautiful than ever. The rain had dwindled down to a fine mist that didn’t amount to anything. The people of the town were all smiles. I guess they looked better to me than I did to them. It was a bashful trip for me, as I had left a few months before to be the artist on the Oregonian at Portland, and the whole town went into a half-holiday, and the streets were decorated. I even bid them good-bye for ever; but I was fired, and came back before some of the flower decorations had wilted. Thus it got to be a joke, and naturally the people thought we were foolish to let father spend so much money on such an uncertain trail, and I couldn’t blame them.
But father,—God bless him,—he didn’t com-
