Frank's sympathy was easily aroused. He voted the little fellow some wretched, homeless lad on a tramp.
By the side of the boy was quite a large bundle. It was enclosed in a newspaper. The breeze blew the sheets aside and the contents were disclosed quite readily to Frank's view.
"Well!" said Frank, his eyes opening wide, "he's not a vegetarian, that's sure."
The remark was called forth by a sight of a mass of cold cooked meat that might well make Frank stare, on account of its volume and variety. It looked as if the young wayfarer had gathered up a lunch for many days. There were parts of mutton chops, chunks of roast beef, and cuts of pork, flanked by bones and remnants of hash and sausages.
"Hope he's here when I come back this way," said Frank. "Looks pretty forlorn. I'd be glad to give him a lift."
Frank hurried forward now. He soon reached the outskirts of Riverton. Within ten minutes he gained the business centre of the little town. Frank located the bank. He was soon at the door of an office over it bearing the words in gilt letters:
James Pryor, Fire Insurance.
