CHAPTER VI
THE LADY AND THE PLAN
THEY were chatting the next morning over the late breakfast of Mrs. Laithe. Her brother, summoned from the branding pen, where tender and terrified calves were being marked for life, had come reluctantly, ill disposed to forego the vivacity of that scene. He had rushed in with the look of a man harassed by large affairs. His evil beard was still unshorn, his dress as untidy as care could make it. He drew a chair up to the oilcloth covered table and surveyed the meager fare of his sister with high disapproval.
"What you need is food, Nell," he began abruptly. "Look at me. This morning I ate two pounds of oatmeal, three wide slices of ham, five chunks of hot bread, about two thousand beans, and drank all the coffee I could get—and never foundered. How's that, against one silly glass of malted milk two weeks ago? And I slept till seven. I woke up for just eight seconds at four-thirty to hear the boys turning out. Oh, it was gray and cold in that bunkhouse—with me warm in the blankets. That was the one moment of real luxury I've ever known—not to turn out if I didn't choose. And I did not choose—if anyone should ride up hastily and inquire of you. When we were on the drive I had to turn out with the rest of the bunch and catch horses and unbuckle frosty hobbles with stiff fingers, and fetch pails of ice water and freeze and do other things, but this morning I just grinned myself asleep again. That was worth living for, my girl."
But his sister was for once unresponsive. She had not seemed to hear him.
"Clarence," she began, as if reciting lines she had learned, "there's a chap over on the next ranch—Ewing's his name—that ought to have something done for him. He's young, twenty-four, I believe, and boyish even for that age, but he draws; draws well. His father was a painter who died here years ago, and the boy has lived in these mountains ever since. His father taught him to draw, but he has had no chance to study, and he's reached a point where he must learn more or lose all he has. I'm almost certain he can make something of himself. He ought to go to New York, where he can study and see pictures and find out things. Now, please advise me about it."
"How's his health—his stomach?"
"I believe we've never spoken of it. That's hardly the point."
"Well, I call it a big point. Suppose he went off to New York and got plumb ruined, the way I did—no eats, no sleeps. If you want my advice, he ought to stay right here where everybody's healthy. He shouldn't be foolish."
"Clarence!" Her eyes shone with impatience. "It isn't whether he's to go or not. He's going, and he's to have money to keep him there till he makes himself known. It's on that point I need advice."