“But I didn’t take it;––worse bally luck. Don’t you know, I thought you might be trying to put me off the chawnce of getting into something good. Everybody warned me when I came out here that I wasn’t to take everything I heard for gospel. The beastly trouble seems to be to distinguish between the gospel and the tommyrot.”
Phil laughed, and it made him forget his own troubles.
DeRue Hannington ordered dinner also, and, as he refreshed himself he became reminiscent.
“So you did buy a ranch?” started Phil.
“I paid for one,” said Hannington, “and, if that isn’t jolly-well buying one, you’ve got to search me, as the Johnnies out here say.
“You see, when you toddled off that day, I was in the saloon asking three fellows if they knew of anyone who had a rawnch for sale.
“One Johnnie said he had a good one I could have cheap, for cash.”
“What was the man’s name?” asked Phil.
“Barney, Barney something-or-other; oh, yes! cawn’t forget it;––Barney Douthem. He did me, the rotter.