“It is very condescending of you to call me your friend. Nobody else would do it,” replied the Hon. John bitterly.
“Condescension be hanged! I’m rather bewildered, that’s all, and wish for further particulars. Are you turning over a new leaf, then?”
“A new leaf? A thousand of them! I have thrown away the old book, with its blotches and ink-stains. I’m starting a blank volume that I hope will bear inspection and not shock even the rectitude of the Camperdown Committee.”
“What’s the programme?”
“I don’t quite know yet; it will depend on circumstances. I think it’s the West for me—sort of back-to-the-land business. I yearn to become a kind of moral cowboy. It seems the only thing I’m at all equipped for. I can ride well and shoot reasonably straight.”
“I thought,” said Stranleigh, “that phase of life had disappeared with Bret Harte. Is there any money in your inside pocket?”
“How could there be?”
“Then why not let me grub-stake you, which I believe is the correct Western term.”
“As how, for instance?”