"May I take your hand?" he asked. "I am not fit, no fitter than Dick,
but----"
Mr. Carteret held out his hand, and the 'Bishop' pressed it gently.
"I believe," said Mr. Carteret after a pause, "that you, sir, may live
to be an honest man."
"I'll look after Dick," blubbered the 'Bishop,' sorely affected. "Dick
will pan out all right--in the end."
But Dick's father shuddered.
"It's very chilly," he said, with a nervous cough. "Good-night, Mr.
Crisp. Good-night, and God bless you."
XIX
A RAGAMUFFIN OF THE FOOTHILLS
Jeff looked ruefully at the hot dusty road which curled upward and in
front of him like a great white snake. At the top of the grade, where
some pines stood out against the blue sky, hung a small reek of dust
concealing the figure of his late companion. As Jeff gazed, the reek
melted away. The young man told himself that he was alone in the brush
foothills, with a lame horse, and a body (his own) so bruised and
battered that it seemed to belong to somebody else.
"Hello!" said a voice.
Jeff stared into the chaparral. Wild lilac and big sage bushes,
flowering lupins and gilias, bordered the road, for spring was abroad
in San Lorenzo county.
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