There was no sign of activity; but two or three untidy loungers leaned against a rude shack with "Pool Room" painted on its dirty windows.

All round, the rolling prairie stretched back to the horizon, washed in dingy drab and gray.

The prospect was dreary and depressing.
"This place," Benson said grimly, "hasn't much to offer one in the way of relaxation; and, for a man used to something different, life at a lonely homestead soon loses its charm.

Unless he's a keen farmer, he's apt to go to bits." "Then, why don't you quit ?" Harding asked.
"Where could I go?
A man with no profession except the one he hasn't the means to follow is not of much use at home; and all my money is sunk in my place here.

As things stand, I can't sell it." He turned to Blake.