It is an adventure book. I hope your passenger hasn’t missed his train', observed the ferryman to Mr. Jimmy Fallows, who sat on the river bank with the painter of his rickety little naphtha launch held loosely in his hand. 'Mr. Opp?' said Jimmy. 'I bet he did. If there is one person in the world that’s got a talent for missing things, it’s Mr. Opp. I never seen him that he hadn’t just missed gettin’ a thousand dollar job, or inventin’ a patent, or bein’ hurt when he had took out a accident policy. If he did ketch a train, like enough it was goin’ the wrong way'. Jimmy had been waiting since nine in the morning, and it was now well past noon. He was a placid gentleman of curvilinear type, short of limb and large of girth. His trousers, of that morose hue termed by the country people 'plum', reached to his armpits, and his hat, large and felt and weather-beaten, was only prevented from eclipsing his head by the stubborn resistance of two small, knob.