Part 3

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours."

The stranger was evidently puzzled by the question. He looked vacantly around the ceiling until his gaze rested upon a glass chandelier above him; but, finding no assistance there, his glance wandered to an oriel, in which there was a caged mocking-bird.

"Jess Baker--that's all," he answered at last, in his thin voice and slow, earnest manner.

"What! don't know your other name?"

"No, I reckin not," said Baker, after a thoughtful pause. "I reckin it's jess Baker--that's all."

"Didn't they ever call you anything else?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Again Baker looked helplessly around until he found the chandelier, and then his eyes sought the oriel. Then he started as if he had received a blow, and immediately reached down and felt his ankles.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"What was it?"

"Hunder'd'n One," he quietly said, looking at his questioner with a shade of fear and suspicion in his face.

The porter believed that a lunatic stood before him. He asked:

"Where are you from?"

"Georgy."

"What part of Georgia?"

Again was Baker at sea, and again did his glance seek the chandelier and the oriel.

"Me?" he asked.

"Yes, you. What part of Georgia are you from?"

"Jess Georgy," he finally said.

"What do you want here?"

"Well, I'll tell you. I want you to hire me," he replied, with a faint look of expectancy.

"What can you do?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh, well, I'll tell you. Most everything."

"What salary do you want?"