He then hied him in haste to the Carnegie Library, where, till train time, he fairly saturated himself with information concerning Butte and vicinity.
When the train pulled out from Binghamton, Mitchell sat across the aisle from Thompson, deep in his paper.

A visorless black cap adorned his head, beneath which flowed his reverend white hair; rimless eye-glasses imparted to his unimpeachable respectability an eminently aristocratic air.

These glasses he wiped carefully from time to time with a white silk handkerchief, which he laid across his ample knees, resuming his reading, oblivious to all else.
The paper was laid aside and the big man became immersed in a magazine.

The handkerchief slipped from his knees into the aisle.
Thompson politely restored it.
"Thank you, young man, thank you," said Britt.

Then a puzzled look came over his brow.