“What’s he in—what’s he doing?” There was no personal interest in the question.
Helen hesitated for a second, knowing instinctively the effect her answer would have upon him—then she replied with a touch of defiance:
“Mining.”
“Minin’!” His tone was full of disgust, much as though she had said gambling or burglary. “I might have known it would be some fool thing like that. No, ma’am,” harshly, “by writin’ first you might have saved yourself the trip for not a dollar of my money ever has or ever will go into any minin’ scheme. I don’t speculate.”
“But Mr. Burt—” Helen began pleadingly. She had a panicky feeling that she was going to cry.
“It’s no use arguin’,” he interrupted. “He can’t get me into any wild-cat minin’ scheme—”
“It isn’t a wild-cat mining scheme,” Helen defended hotly.
Burt went on—
“If he wants to come home and help me with the cattle and behave himself now that he’s fooled away his time and failed—”
“But he hasn’t failed.” Helen insisted with eager impatience. “He won’t fail if——”