"Of course, you know I must. I started with an outfit and fifteen hundred dollars, now I haven't a cent."
The Kentuckian raised his heavy eyes to the jam-jar. "Oh, help yourself."
The Boy laughed, and shook his head.
"I wish you wouldn't go," the other said very low.
"You see, I've got to. Why, Nig and I owe you for a week's grub already."
Then the Colonel stood up and swore—swore till he was scarlet and shaking with excitement.
"If the life up here has brought us to 'Scowl' Austin's point of view, we are poorly off." And he spoke of the way men lived in his part of Kentucky, where the old fashion of keeping open house survived. And didn't he know it was the same thing in Florida? "Wouldn't you do as much for me?"
"Yes, only I can't—and—I'm restless. The summer's half gone. Up here that means the whole year's half gone."
The Colonel had stumbled back into his seat, and now across the deal table he put out his hand.
"Don't go, Boy. I don't know how I'd get on without——" He stopped, and his big hand was raised as if to brush away some cloud between him and his pardner. "If you go, you won't come back."