Such was “Old Shep” as the papers painted him.  I felt that the story of his life must be a sad one—­a story of suffering, disappointment, and exile—­a story of man’s inhumanity to man in some shape or other—­and I longed to persuade the secret from him.

.....................

“Since you say you are a member of the press,” said the wild man, “I am willing to tell you all you wish to know.  Bye and bye you will comprehend why it is that I wish to unbosom myself to a newspaper man when I have so studiously avoided conversation with other people.  I will now unfold my strange story.  I was born with the world we live upon, almost.  I am the son of Cain.”

“What?”

“I was present when the flood was announced.”

“Which?”

“I am the father of the Wandering Jew.”

“Sir?”

I moved out of range of his club, and went on taking notes, but keeping a wary eye on him all the while.  He smiled a melancholy smile and resumed: 

“When I glance back over the dreary waste of ages, I see many a glimmering and mark that is familiar to my memory.  And oh, the leagues I have travelled! the things I have seen! the events I have helped to emphasise!  I was at the assassination of Caesar.  I marched upon Mecca with Mahomet.  I was in the Crusades, and stood with Godfrey when he planted the banner of the cross on the battlements of Jerusalem.  I—­”

“One moment, please.  Have you given these items to any other journal?  Can I—­”

“Silence.  I was in the Pinta’s shrouds with Columbus when America burst upon his vision.  I saw Charles I beheaded.  I was in London when the Gunpowder Plot was discovered.  I was present at the trial of Warren Hastings.  I was on American soil when the battle of Lexington was fought when the declaration was promulgated—­when Cornwallis surrendered —­When Washington died.  I entered Paris with Napoleon after Elba.  I was present when you mounted your guns and manned your fleets for the war of 1812—­when the South fired upon Sumter—­when Richmond fell—­when the President’s life was taken.  In all the ages I have helped to celebrate the triumphs of genius, the achievements of arms, the havoc of storm, fire, pestilence, famine.”

“Your career has been a stirring one.  Might I ask how you came to locate in these dull Kansas woods, when you have been so accustomed to excitement during what I might term so protracted a period, not to put too fine a point on it?”

“Listen.  Once I was the honoured servitor of the noble and illustrious” (here he heaved a sigh, and passed his hairy hand across his eyes) “but in these degenerate days I am become the slave of quack doctors and newspapers.  I am driven from pillar to post and hurried up and down, sometimes with stencil-plate and paste-brush to defile the fences with cabalistic legends, and sometimes in grotesque and extravagant character at the behest