Nevertheless, one there was who apprehended in some measure the ordeal through which the mountaineer was passing--happily, a kindly observer. An elderly man, across the aisle from Zeke, regarded his fellow passenger with particular intentness. It seemed to him that, in some vague way, the clean-cut face was familiar. His curiosity thus aroused, he perceived the tenseness of expression and attitude, and shrewdly suspected the truth. It was with benevolent intent, rather than for the gratification of inquisitiveness, that he finally got up and seated himself in the vacant place alongside the younger man.
Zeke's perturbation caused him to start nervously at this advent of a stranger, but a single glance into the wrinkled, yet hale, face of the man reassured him. The visitor's amiable character showed plainly in his dim blue eyes, which twinkled merrily. Moreover, there was a sure witness of worth in the empty sleeve, pinned to his left breast, on which showed the cross of honor. The humor lurking in the eyes was grotesquely manifested in his first address:
"This-hyar railroad hain't no fitten one fer beginners," he announced, with a chuckle. "Hit's plumb likely to make a squirrel into a nut."
Zeke smiled, somewhat ruefully. He understood the play on words since "boomer," the mountaineers' own name for the red squirrel, is often applied to themselves. But the distraction afforded by the garrulous veteran was a relief. A new spur was given to their mutual interest when, after telling his name, it was discovered that his father had been a company-mate with Seth Jones, the veteran, in the Twelfth North Carolina Volunteers. The old man's curiosity was highly gratified by this explanation of the inherited likeness that had puzzled him, and he waxed reminiscent and confidential. The diversion was welcome to his listener, where doubtless many another might have found the narrative of by-gone campaigns tedious in this prolix retelling. Ultimately, indeed, the youth's sympathies were aroused by Jones' tale of misfortune in love, wherein his failure to write the girl he left behind him had caused her first to mourn him as dead, and eventually to marry her second choice.
"But I've jest got scrumptious news," he exclaimed, his rheumy eyes suddenly clear and sparkling. "Seems as how Fanny's a widder. So, I'm a-goin' to try my luck, an' no shelly-shallyin', now I've got her located arter a mighty lot o' huntin'. Yes, sir, sonny," he concluded, with a guffaw, "old as I be, I'm a-goin' a-courtin'. If I ever see ye ag'in, I'll tell ye how it comes out. I s'pose I seem plumb old fer sech foolishness to a boy like you be, but some hearts keep young till they stop. I'm pretty spry fer my age, too, if I do say so as shouldn't."