“How grand that is!” said Tracy, as he wended homeward.  “What a civilization it is, and what prodigious results these are! and brought about almost wholly by common men; not by Oxford-trained aristocrats, but men who stand shoulder to shoulder in the humble ranks of life and earn the bread that they eat.  Again, I’m glad I came.  I have found a country at last where one may start fair, and breast to breast with his fellow man, rise by his own efforts, and be something in the world and be proud of that something; not be something created by an ancestor three hundred years ago.”

CHAPTER XI.

During the first few days he kept the fact diligently before his mind that he was in a land where there was “work and bread for all.”  In fact, for convenience’ sake he fitted it to a little tune and hummed it to himself; but as time wore on the fact itself began to take on a doubtful look, and next the tune got fatigued and presently ran down and stopped.  His first effort was to get an upper clerkship in one of the departments, where his Oxford education could come into play and do him service.  But he stood no chance whatever.  There, competency was no recommendation; political backing, without competency, was worth six of it.  He was glaringly English, and that was necessarily against him in the political centre of a nation where both parties prayed for the Irish cause on the house-top and blasphemed it in the cellar.  By his dress he was a cowboy; that won him respect—­when his back was not turned—­but it couldn’t get a clerkship for him.  But he had said, in a rash moment, that he would wear those clothes till the owner or the owner’s friends caught sight of them and asked for that money, and his conscience would not let him retire from that engagement now.

At the end of a week things were beginning to wear rather a startling look.  He had hunted everywhere for work, descending gradually the scale of quality, until apparently he had sued for all the various kinds of work a man without a special calling might hope to be able to do, except ditching and the other coarse manual sorts—­and had got neither work nor the promise of it.

He was mechanically turning over the leaves of his diary, meanwhile, and now his eye fell upon the first record made after he was burnt out: 

“I myself did not doubt my stamina before, nobody could doubt it now, if they could see how I am housed, and realise that I feel absolutely no disgust with these quarters, but am as serenely content with them as any dog would be in a similar kennel.  Terms, twenty-five dollars a week.  I said I would start at the bottom.  I have kept my word.”

A shudder went quaking through him, and he exclaimed: 

“What have I been thinking of!  This the bottom!  Mooning along a whole week, and these terrific expenses climbing and climbing all the time!  I must end this folly straightway.”