"Whose? Mount's?" I asked. "Well, I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you, Mount."
"That's all very well, but you did," said Mount. "I've got feelings, too, just as much as the Weasel has."
"No, you haven't," said the Weasel, hastily. "I'm a ruined man, and you know it. Haven't I been through enough to give me sensitive feelings?"
Mount nudged me. "He's thinking of his wife and baby," he said. "Talk to him about them. He likes it. It harrows him, doesn't it, Cade?"
"It hurts fearful," replied the Weasel, looking up at me hopefully.
"You had a lovely wife, didn't you, Cade?" inquired Mount, sympathetically.
"Yes—oh yes. And a baby girl, Jack—don't forget the baby girl," sniffed the Weasel, trotting beside me.
"The baby must be nigh fifteen years old now, eh, Cade?" suggested Mount.
"Sixteen, nigh sixteen, Jack. The cunning little thing."
"What became of her?" I asked, gently.