Justin was probably of the same opinion, for he looked dubiously at the suspicious enclosure, and put it aside, beginning upon his other two mail letters. Yet, when half through these something moved him to tear open the other. A glance at its contents—then he started and grew pale. What was this? His hands trembled, and a mist seemed to come between his eyes and the paper, as he held it in front of him, striving to master the contents. Was it real? Heavens! no! Some fool must have been putting up a practical joke on him. It was impossible. It could not be.
“No bad news I hope, old chap?”
His partner’s voice, anxious, sympathetic, sounded quite far away.
“No—no. Oh no—not bad news,” he answered unsteadily. “I’ll tell you bye-and-bye. Here, Sixpence! Hurry up and get in my horse. Tshetsha—d’you hear! Tshetsha!”
Skelsey watched him furtively and wondered. However, he made no further remark.
“Well, so long, Jack,” said Spence, as he led forth his horse. His partner had further observed that his hands shook during the process of saddling up—and that he seemed in a desperate hurry to be off. “I’ll be back to-night, but after dark, I expect.”
“No, you won’t,” thought Skelsey to himself. “Spence is making a bally fool of himself in that quarter. There’ll be a gorgeous bust-up one of these days.” Then aloud:
“So long, Spence. Remember me to the beautiful Mrs B.”
“No more of this life,” thought Spence to himself as he rode along. A very different one now threw wide its alluring portals before him. He would leave all his share in the joint outfit to Jack Skelsey. He was a good fellow was Jack—
“Oh, l-lucky Jim!
How I envy hi-im—”