"If there be the possibility of atonement for such as he," continued the speaker--"and God forbid that I should dare to say there is _not_--let that atonement be made here where he has sinned. It seems that the stoppage of his allowance tempted him to commit suicide. I did not know my son was a coward. Now, to close for ever that shameful avenue down which he might slink from the battle, I pledge myself to pay again that five pounds a month during my life, and to secure the same to Richard _Cartwright_ after my death, so long as he shall live. That, I think, is all." He passed with dignity out of the room and into the street, where the buggy awaited him. Dick remained standing, but the 'Bishop' followed the father, noting how, as soon as he had crossed the threshold, his back became bowed and his steps faltered. He touched the old man lightly on the shoulder. "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. A boy slipped through the lilacs. "Jee-whiz!" said the boy. "You've hurt yourself." "That's right," Jeff replied. "How did it happen?" "The plug crossed his feet in the dip yonder, and rolled plum over me. Say--do you want to earn an honest dollar?" The adjective was emphasised, for none knew better than Jeff that the foothills harboured queer folk. The boy nodded. "You must get a buggy, sonny." "A buggy? Anything else? As if buggies grew in the brush-hills!" Just then Jeff's sanguine complexion turned grey, and his eyes seemed to slip back into his head. The boy perceived a bulging pocket, out of which he whipped a flask. Jeff took a long drink; then he gasped out: "Thunder! you was smart to find that flask. Ah-h-h!" "You're in a real bad fix," said the boy.