"Nearly two hundred dollars, sir."
"Did you go home?"
"I couldn't; I had only enough to bring me to Cushing, and they wouldn't send me any more. I had to go to the ranch and stay."
"Did you try to earn any money?"
"Yes, sir, writing about the campaign. Rawdon lost his position because he didn't send what they wanted, so I thought I might. The editor didn't know me, and asked for references, so I sent my stories to—to Mr. Arnold and my aunt. She often wrote for the papers."
"Is that the way the Boston and other papers came to publish those scandals at the expense of Colonel Button?"
"She dressed them up a good deal and made it worse than I described," faltered Lowndes.
"Er—let me explain, gentlemen," interposed Mr. Arnold, who had been twitching in uneasiness. "My sister is of a very sympathetic nature, and her heart has long been wrung by the injustice meted out to the Indian. When this unhappy boy wrote those—er—descriptive letters she had no reason to doubt their entire truth. Indeed, her conviction was that he was concealing, or glossing over, worse things."
"He seems to have later supplied you with worse things, Mr. Arnold. For instance, I will ask you what was his final explanation of his need for money?"
"He begged me to send him two hundred dollars at once, saying he would be disgraced if he could not pay Lieutenant Lanier, who had won it from him at cards."