“I came on purpose to hunt.”
“You did?”
Tom was greatly amazed when he heard this. He ran his eye over Oscar from head to foot, critically examining his neat, warm outfit, and noting, with no little bitterness of heart, the air of comfort and contentment which those who are prosperous in the world seem to carry with them wherever they go, and then he looked down at himself.
Oscar, following the direction of his gaze, saw that his suit of broadcloth was very seedy and threadbare, and that in some places it was almost worn through.
What would Tom do when winter fairly set in, and the ravines were piled full of snow, and the keen winds came roaring down from the mountains? If that was the warmest suit he had, he would certainly freeze to death.
“Where is your overcoat?” asked Oscar, looking about the camp.
“Overcoat?” repeated Tom, with a sneering laugh. “Do you imagine that I am able to own such a thing? My uncle’s got it.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes—Uncle Solomon, who lives in Denver. I had to shove it.”
Oscar looked down at the ground, and turned these words over in his mind. He did not quite understand them, and yet he was almost afraid to ask Tom to explain.