"Broke, eh?" queried the latter sententiously.
"Stony."
"So? Ah, I knew it'd come; I knew it'd come."
This remark, redolent as it was of that sort of cheap prophecy which consists of being wise after the event, Laurence did not deem worthy of answer.
"And I was waiting for it to come," pursued Hazon. "Say, now, why not make a trip up country with me?"
"That sounds likely, doesn't it? Didn't I just tell you I was stony broke?"
"You did. The very reason why I made my proposal."
"Don't see it. If I were to sell out every rag of my scrip now, I couldn't raise enough to pay my shot towards the outfit. And I couldn't even render service in kind, for I've had no experience of waggons and all that sort of thing. So where does it come in?"
"It does come in. You can render service in kind—darned much so. I don't want you to pay any shot towards the outfit. See here, Stanninghame, if you go up country with me now, you'll come back a fairly rich man, or——"
"Or what?"