the edge of the board-walk.

"Come a long way, M'sieu'?" he asked.

"Four days' journey," answered the man gruffly through his beard, looking
the landlord in the eyes. If this landlord, who in the past had seen him
so often and so closely, did not recognise him, surely no one else would.
It was, however, a curious recurrence of habit that, as he looked at the
landlord, he instinctively felt for his eye-glass, which he had discarded
when he left Chaudiere. For an instant there was an involuntary arrest
of Jean Jolicoeur's look, as though memory had been roused, but this
swiftly passed, and he said:

"Fine dogs, them! We never get that kind hereabouts now, M'sieu'. Ever
been to the city before?"

"I've never been far from home before," answered the Forgotten Man.

"You'd better keep your eyes open, my friend, though you've got a sharp
pair in your head--sharp as Beauty Steele's almost. There's rascals in
the river-side drinking-places that don't let the left hand know what the
right does."

"My dogs and I never trust anybody," said the Forgotten Man, as one of
the dogs snarled at the landlord's touch. "So I can take care of myself,
even if I haven't eyes as sharp as Beauty Steele's, whoever he is."

The landlord laughed. "Beauty's only skin-deep, they say. Charley
Steele was a lawyer; his office was over there"--he pointed across the
street. "He went wrong. He come here too often--that wasn't my fault.