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THE WHITE SCAR

nearly killed myself one day, when a horse fell on me, and so I got my time and quit being an actor. That was about a month ago. Then I came back here and rented this place and started in business. The business hasn't shown up yet, though. I guess being a civil engineer in Clearfield is about as busy a job as being a street-cleaner in Venice! Now you know all about me. Hope I haven't tired you out."

"No, indeed," replied Perry emphatically. "I like to hear about it. Say, you've been around a lot, haven't you? Were you born in Nebraska?"

"Me? Hombre, I'm a native son of this grand old state. My folks farmed it over near Petersboro before the Pilgrims bought their passage!"

"How did you happen to go to college away out there, sir?"

"Why—now, look here, I've talked enough. I'll tell you some day about that, if you say so, but if I don't quit now you'll think I'm wound up. You tell me things."

"What?" asked Perry, smiling.

"Well, what are you aiming to do when you get through cramming your head full of knowledge, friend?"

"I don't know. I used to think I'd be a doctor.

That's what my father is. But lately—I don't know.

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