I'm familiar with most parts of the United States, but Chazy Junction gets my flutters.

Why, oh, why in the world did it happen ?" Mr.Judkins scowled but made no answer.

He was wise enough to understand he was no match in conversation for this irresponsible outcast who knew the great world as perfectly as the agent knew his junction.

He turned away and stared hard at the silent sleeper, the appearance of which was not wholly unexpected.
"You haven't informed me who the nabobs are, nor why they choose to be sidetracked in this forsaken stone-quarry," remarked the stranger, eyeing the bleak hills around him in the growing light of dawn.
The agent hesitated.

His first gruff resentment had been in a manner disarmed and he dearly loved to talk, especially on so interesting a subject as "the nabobs." He knew he could astonish the tramp, and the temptation to do so was too strong to resist.
"It's the great John Merrick, who's got millions to burn but don't light many bonfires," he began, not very graciously at first.