The day that McCleary started West Harold went to see him off, and after they had shaken hands for the last time, Harold went to the ticket window and handed in his return coupon to the agent, saying, "I'd like to have you put that aside for me; I don't want to run any chances of losing it." The agent smiled knowingly.

"All right, what name ?" "Excell, 'XL,' that's my brand." "All right, she's right here any time you want her--inside of the thirty days--time runs out on the fifteenth." "I savvy," said Harold as he turned away.
He disposed his money about his person in four or five small wads, and so fortified, faced the city.

To lose his little fund would be like having his pack mule give out in the desert, and he took every precaution against such a calamity.
Nothing of this uncertainty and inner weakness appeared in his outward actions, however.

No one accused him of looking like an "easy mark" or "a soft thing." The line of his lips and the lower of his strongly marked eyebrows made strangers slow of approach.

He was never awkward, he could not be so any more than could a fox or a puma, but he was restless, irresolute, brooding, and gloomy.
He moved down to the Occidental Grand, where he was able to secure a room on the top floor for fifty cents per day.