“Mr. Nowell, I don’t want to be quite as lonesome in this world as I have been,” said Farr, with earnestness.  “It’s an awful feeling, that!  A man can be lonely for a time and crowd down the hankering to be in the march of honest men where he can touch elbows and be a part of things.  I see you look at me!  That’s right—­it’s queer stuff to be talking to you.”  He pondered for a moment and went on.  “Queer thing, eh, for a fellow to wake up all of a sudden—­a fellow of my stamp—­and want to do some real good in the world?  Well, it surprises me, and it would surprise you a whole lot more if you knew me better.  We won’t try to analyze the feeling.  I’ve given up trying to do it.”  He paused and his brown eyes surveyed the blinking iceman with a quizzical appeal in them.  “That’s a pretty long preface, Mr. Nowell.  It ought to lead up to some very important request.  But it doesn’t.  I simply want a job on your ice-cart.  It will give me the best opportunity I know of to go into homes and tell mothers to boil the water which comes out of those dirty taps; after I unscrew the faucets I won’t have to argue much.  I told Colonel Dodd in his office to look out for me!  That may have been bluster.  I am a nobody.  But I’m on his trail, and there is one thing I can do to start with!  I can help save the lives of a few children.  That’s all!  I’ll be following my new motto.  Will you give me the job?”

“I sure will,” declared Nowell, heartily.  “If I don’t know when a man is talking rock-bottom to me, then it’s my own fault.  When do you want to go to work?”

“Now.”

Nowell gave the new man’s garments a disparaging side glance.

“You look more as if you was going out to preach instead of deliver ice.  But I can fix that if you’re busted, my friend.  You slip off that coat and help here till we’re loaded.  Then ride into the city on the freight-car and tell any one of my men to give you the overalls and jumper I left hanging in my stable office.”

In this fashion it came about that Farr that day was riding on an ice-wagon in Marion, learning his route.  A red-headed youth who was nursing an ice-pick wound in a bundled-up foot served as guide and driver and spotted the “Crystal Pure” cards propped here and there in windows, mutely signaling the household needs.  With zestful complacency, and with secret enjoyment in being allowed to “team” this chap who looked and talked like a “nob,” the youth allowed Farr to do all the work.

The route took in many apartment-houses of the city.

The labor was muscle-racking.  In most cases there were stairs to climb.  He stood, sagging under his burden, till chests were cleared by the housewives or sluggish maids.  He discovered that the iceman was considered a fair and logical butt for all the forenoon grouches of the kitchen.  Women complained querulously that the ice dripped on the clean floor, or that the piece was not up to the twenty-cent piece delivered by the other company, or that he was late, or he had not had his eyes about him the day before or else he would have seen the card.