“Gosh darn my buttons! if I didn’t plumb forget dinner!”

He stumbled across the stream in the darkness and lighted his long-delayed fire.  Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted his supper.  Then he smoked a pipe by the smouldering coals, listening to the night noises and watching the moonlight stream through the canyon.  After that he unrolled his bed, took off his heavy shoes, and pulled the blankets up to his chin.  His face showed white in the moonlight, like the face of a corpse.  But it was a corpse that knew its resurrection, for the man rose suddenly on one elbow and gazed across at his hillside.

“Good night, Mr. Pocket,” he called sleepily.  “Goodnight.”

He slept through the early gray of morning until the direct rays of the sun smote his closed eyelids, when he awoke with a start and looked about him until he had established the continuity of his existence and identified his present self with the days previously lived.

To dress, he had merely to buckle on his shoes.  He glanced at his fireplace and at his hillside, wavered, but fought down the temptation and started the fire.

“Keep yer shirt on, Bill; keep yer shirt on,” he admonished himself.  “What’s the good of rushin’?  No use in gettin’ all het up an’ sweaty.  Mr. Pocket’ll wait for you.  He ain’t a-runnin’ away before you can get your breakfast.  Now, what you want, Bill, is something fresh in yer bill o’ fare.  So it’s up to you to go an’ get it.”

He cut a short pole at the water’s edge and drew from one of his pockets a bit of line and a draggled fly that had once been a royal coachman.

“Mebbe they’ll bite in the early morning,” he muttered, as he made his first cast into the pool.  And a moment later he was gleefully crying:  “What’d I tell you, eh?  What’d I tell you?”

He had no reel, nor any inclination to waste time, and by main strength, and swiftly, he drew out of the water a flashing ten-inch trout.  Three more, caught in rapid succession, furnished his breakfast.  When he came to the stepping-stones on his way to his hillside, he was struck by a sudden thought, and paused.

“I’d just better take a hike down-stream a ways,” he said.  “There’s no tellin’ who may be snoopin’ around.”

But he crossed over on the stones, and with a “I really oughter take that hike,” the need of the precaution passed out of his mind and he fell to work.

At nightfall he straightened up.  The small of his back was stiff from stooping toil, and as he put his hand behind him to soothe the protesting muscles, he said: 

“Now what d’ye think of that?  I clean forgot my dinner again!  If I don’t watch out, I’ll sure be degeneratin’ into a two-meal-a-day crank.”

“Pockets is the hangedest things I ever see for makin’ a man absent-minded,” he communed that night, as he crawled into his blankets.  Nor did he forget to call up the hillside, “Good night, Mr. Pocket!  Good night!”