mined to tell her the real reason he had left, especially as she was so kind and seemed to know so much about traveling in the West. Having reached this decision, he told, with many hesitations, the story of his experiences.
With quick sympathy the girl listened, and, as he concluded, exclaimed tenderly:
"You poor kid! I'm sure glad you happened to drop in here. I've got a sister living out in Chicago, whose husband runs as far as Kansas City on a freight train. I'll give you a note to her, and her man will give you a lift, and probably he can arrange with some of the men he knows to carry you west from Kansas City."
"That will be very kind of you," returned Bob. "It seems as though strangers are kinder to me than people I've known all my life."
"That's often the way," exclaimed the girl, as she rose and went up to the desk in the front of the restaurant, where she obtained some paper, an envelope, and pen and ink, which she brought back to Bob's table.
It was evident from the slowness with which her self-imposed task advanced that the girl was more ready with her kind-hearted sympathy than with her pen. But at last the missive was finished, and she gave it to Bob.
"Don't forget that address: 'South 101st Street, on the left-hand corner, in a big, yellow
