So startling was this comment that, as if by reflex, I swivelled in my chair and parted the heavy curtains obscuring the window behind me. Owing to the lateness of the hour (which was rapidly approaching dinnertime), as well as the sullenness of the weather, only a modicum of daylight was admitted by my action. Still, this illumination, added to that of my table lamp, proved sufficient for me to take stock of my visitor.

He cut an imposing figure. Though his height fell several inches short of six feet, he appeared to be a man of nearly Herculean stature: an effect that was in large part due to his erect, indeed military, carriage, as well as to the exceptional span of his shoulders and chest. His full head of thick, black hair framed a visage of equally striking character. There was something in his features—the piercing blue eyes, hawklike nose, and prominent chin—that spoke of boundless interior strength and resolution. To this must be added a vague yet palpable air of natural bonhomie. Perhaps his most noticeable characteristic, however, was his robust complexion, which attested to a life of rugged outdoor pursuits.

This latter impression was heightened by his clothing; for though his garments were of the most presentable cut and fashion—high-collared coat, gray-striped pantaloons, stiff shirtfront and cerulean cravat—he seemed strangely constricted in this formal attire, as though he were more accustomed to the loose-fitting garb of the yeoman or hunter.

My inspection of this singular individual—who had yet to trouble himself with the nicety of an introduction—lasted no more than a few seconds. Determined to learn his identity without further delay, I parted my lips and made ready to speak. Before I could give voice to my question, however, he withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his side pocket and opened it with a flourish.

“I reckon I had best say why I’m here, for I see that you are set to bust like an airthquake with curiosity,” he declared in his unmistakable backwoods “drawl.” There was something strangely familiar in his manner of speech, as though I had heard his voice before. Where I had encountered it, however, remained a mystery, for it was indisputably the case that I had never laid eyes on him before.

“Mighty poor light in here for a feller to read by,” he muttered, turning his paper this way and that.

Focussing my attention on this item, I now perceived that it was a printed page which had been detached from a book or periodical. Its tattered right edge offered conspicuous proof that it had been carelessly—even violently—removed from its source.

Having finally settled on a position, my visitor began to read in a manner which suggested that, though not entirely foreign to him, this activity was by no means habitual. His halting pronunciation, however, in no way impeded the forcefulness of his delivery, which was enlivened by his colorful interjections.