"Could have told you that myself."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Thought you knew it."
"I didn't know it,—and I am not sure, even now," retorted Hemming.
"Well, old man," rejoined O'Rourke, "you know her better than I do, so suit yourself. But my advice is the same as Stanley's."
He stared moodily at the Englishman. In fact, he was already lonely for his energetic, steel-true roommate. What days and nights they had seen together! What adventures they had sped, knee to knee! What vigils they had kept by the camp-fires and under the cabin-lamps! And now a girl!—but at that thought his brow cleared.
"I think we have both done with the old pace," he remarked, pensively.
"I wonder," said Hemming.
That night about a dozen men gathered in Tarmont's studio. Hemming was the guest of honour. The big room was soon filled with smoke. There were many things to drink and a few things to eat. Songs were sung, and stories told. Hemming tried to make a speech, and O'Rourke had to finish it for him. After that, Tarmont suggested leap-frog.
"Just wait until I do my little stunt," begged Potts. He tuned his banjo, and, to an accompaniment of his own composing, sang the following verses: