“What is it? What’s the matter?” exclaimed the girl.
“Matter?”––His voice was hoarse and strained. He crumpled the letter in a convulsive grasp––“Matter? I’m ruined!––ruined! God!”
Knowles and the girl were both silent before the despair in the young man’s face. Gowan was more obtuse or else less considerate. 42
“Shore, you’re plumb busted, partner,” he ironically condoled. “Your whole outfit has flown away on the wings of the morning. Hope you won’t tell us the pay for your veal has vamoosed with the rest.”
“Oh, Kid, for shame!” reproved the girl. “Of course Daddy won’t ask for any pay––now.”
Ashton burst into a jangling high-pitched laugh.
“No, no! there’s still my pony and saddle and rifle and watch!” he cried, half hysterically. “Take them! strip me! Here’s my hat, too! I paid forty-five dollars for it––silver band.” He flung it on the ground. “There’s a hole in it––I wish the hole were through my head!”
“Now, now, look here, son. Keep a stiff upper lip,” said Knowles. “Don’t act like you’re locoed. It’s all right about that veal, as Chuckie says, and you oughtn’t to make such a fuss over the loss of a camp outfit.”
“Camp outfit?” shrilled Ashton. “If that were all! if that were all! What shall I do? Lost––all lost!––father––all! Ruined! Oh, my God! What shall I do? Oh, my God! Oh––” Anguish and despair choked the cry in his throat. He collapsed in a huddled, quivering heap.
“Sho! It can’t be as bad as that, can it?” condoled the cowman.