The partners did not appear impressed, or act as if they deemed it incumbent on them to either register surprise, curiosity, or tell him their own names.

“Reckon you’ve heard of me—Lucky Cochran?” the newcomer asked with a grin that was entirely self-complacent.

The partners studied him for a moment and then the smaller man said, not without a suggestion of disapproval, “Nope. Can’t say I ever did. Why?”

“Never heard tell of me? Lucky Cochran? I’m the man that owned the ranch at Placides, where they struck oil. I’m the boy they paid twenty thousand to last week and— By gosh!—if things go right, I’ll get a million more.”

Goliath yawned openly, stretched his long legs out into the aisle, and David unblinkingly gazed at him as if taking stock of all his new clothing, his diamond stud screwed into a flannel shirt, the diamond ring on his heavy, thick-knuckled hands, and thence downward to his big feet that were incased in patent-leather shoes of a design affected by “sporting gents” of the previous decade.

“Humph! He looks it, don’t he?” David said, turning toward his partner. As if his attention had just been casually called to something outside, Goliath, in turn, appraised Mr. Cochran and then rumbled, “He sure does!”

Entirely unabashed by their comments, Mr. Cochran seemed, on the contrary, to be highly pleased.

“That’s me!” he remarked. “Lucky Cochran! That’s me, boys.” And then, as if stimulated to speech, he began talking. He told them the history of his new wealth, of his lean years, of where he had originated. He even told them stories. His tongue wagged as if on a pivot, pendulous, and the fact that neither of them evidenced the slightest interest, or interpolated any remarks, did not in the least curb his loquacity.

The partners moved into the emigrant sleeping car, where they breathed deeply, thanking Heaven that they had lost Mr. Lucky Cochran. Two hours later Mr. Cochran also moved in and greeted them like long-lost brothers. The partners fled to the smoking compartment, and Cochran pursued them. The tiny cabin was filled with men and smoke, and to their relief Cochran began telling his story to those therein assembled, and the partners fled to the smoking car at the front end of the train. They sat quietly, glad of the fact that no conversation was hurled at them; for they were wonderfully skilled as listeners, although short in words. One man was telling another of how much cheaper it was to travel 

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