He rested his right elbow on the bar, and drew the back of his left hand across his mouth, as if embarrassed, and again began:
"It's a breathin' and a burnin' shame, I say, that the woman has got for to go on in this way, a washin' of duds for us fellows of this here camp. If this here camp can't afford one lady in its precincts, why, then I shall pull up stakes and go to where the tall cedars cast their shadows over the coyote, and the coyote howls and howls—and—and—"
He wiped his mouth again, and broke down utterly. But he had said enough. A responsive chord was touched, and the men fairly sprang to their feet with delight at the thought.
Some of the best things in life are like leads of gold—we come upon them in a kind of sudden discovery.
The Parson's eyes twinkled with delight. "I move that Sandy take the chair for this occasion, and second the motion, and plank down twenty ounces for the Widow."
Sandy removed his slouch hat, blushed behind his beard at the new dignity, and said:
"Bully for you! I raise you five ounces and ante the dust."
Here he drew a long, heavy purse from his pocket, and passed it over to the bar-keeper, who thereby became treasurer of the enterprise without further remark. The Parson's eye twinkled again.
"I see your five ounces and go you ten better."
"Called," said Sandy, and he pecked at the bar-keeper, which little motion of the head meant that that further amount was to be weighed from the purse for the benefit of the Widow.