Tom was greatly amazed when he heard this. He ran his eye over Oscar from head to foot, critically examining his neat, warm outfit, and noting, with no little bitterness of heart, the air of comfort and contentment which those who are prosperous in the world seem to carry with them wherever they go, and then he looked down at himself. Oscar, following the direction of his gaze, saw that his suit of broadcloth was very seedy and threadbare, and that in some places it was almost worn through. What would Tom do when winter fairly set in, and the ravines were piled full of snow, and the keen winds came roaring down from the mountains? If that was the warmest suit he had, he would certainly freeze to death. “Where is your overcoat?” asked Oscar, looking about the camp. “Overcoat?” repeated Tom, with a sneering laugh. “Do you imagine that I am able to own such a thing? My uncle’s got it.” “Your uncle?” “Yes—Uncle Solomon, who lives in Denver. I had to shove it.” Oscar looked down at the ground, and turned these words over in his mind. He did not quite understand them, and yet he was almost afraid to ask Tom to explain. He wanted to know all about his brother’s circumstances and plans for the future, for he was as ready to assist him as he had been to assist Leon Parker; but still he did not like to ask too many questions, for Tom spoke very gruffly, and in a tone of voice which showed that he was in no mood to say much about himself. Finally, Oscar came to the conclusion that Tom, having become pressed for money, had been obliged to pawn his overcoat, and the latter’s next words proved that this conclusion was the right one. “The old skinflint took advantage of my necessities, as people of that class always do,” said he. “He gave me only fifteen dollars for it, and it cost me forty. But those fifteen dollars came in very handy, I tell you, for with them I was able to purchase three flannel shirts and these boots, which are a mile too big for me. Now, let me tell you what’s a fact, Oscar. You had better take the advice of one who has been through the mill, and dig out for the States while you have the chance. I was as spruce as you are when I first came out here, and now look at me. Just look at that!” he went on, thrusting out a foot which, up to the time he left home had always been encased in boots made of nothing heavier then French calf-skin or patent leather. “If I had been compelled to wear such stogas while I was in Eaton, I should have thought I was very badly abused, but now I have to wear them, or go without any. I’ll tell you another thing—if you stay here you needn’t look to me for help. It is as much as I can do to take care of myself.” Here Tom got upon his feet and walked back and forth in front of his brother, shaking his fists in the air and swearing audibly. “Those three thousand dollars didn’t do you much good, did they?” said Oscar, after a moment’s pause.