Beta Book

Cinch. Always land on my feet. Not on my
uppers, at that. I'm only twenty-eight, but I've been on my
own, like the English fellow says, since I was twelve.... Well,
how about you? Traveling or going somewhere?"
"Just traveling. I'm glad we're going together, Mr. Morton.
I don't think most of these cattlemen are very nice. Except for
the old Jews. They seem to be fine old coots. They make you
think of--oh--you know--prophets and stuff. Watch 'em, over
there, making tea. I suppose the steamer grub ain't kosher.
I seen one on the Joy Line saying his prayers--I suppose he
was--in a kind of shawl."
"Well, well! You don't say so!"
Distinctly, Mr. Wrenn felt that he was one of the gentlemen who,
in Kipling, stand at steamer rails exchanging observations on
strange lands. He uttered, cosmopolitanly:
"Gee! Look at that sunset. Ain't that grand!"
"Holy smoke! it sure is. I don't see how anybody could believe
in religion after looking at that."
Shocked and confused at such a theory, yet excited at finding
that Morton apparently had thoughts, Mr.


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