“I heard about it,” said Brown; “they told me the boy was half drunk, and you more.”  Brown’s tone was not encouraging.

“You’ve hit it, Brown, and that’s the sort of thing that makes me anxious.  The boy is getting into bad ways, and I thought you might take him in hand.  I cannot help him much in these matters, and you can.”

French’s arguments had all deserted him.

“Look here,” he said at length desperately, “here is a letter which I got a few days ago.  I want you to read that last page.  It will show you my difficulty.  It is from my sister-in-law, and, of course, her position is quite preposterous; but you know a woman finds it difficult to understand some things in a man’s life.  You know what I mean, but read.  I think you know who she is.  It was she who sent Kalman out here to save him from going wrong.  God save the mark!”

Brown took the letter and read it carefully, read it a second time, and then said simply: 

“That seems straight enough.  That woman sees her way through things.  But what’s the trouble?”

“Well, of course, it is quite absurd.”

“What’s absurd?” asked Brown shortly.  “Your responsibility?”

“Hold on, now, Brown,” he said.  “I do not want you to miss my point of view.”

“All right, let’s have it,” said Brown; and French plunged at once at his main argument, adopting with great effort the judicial tone of a man determined to examine dispassionately on the data at command.

“You see, she does not know me, has not seen me for fifteen years, and I am afraid she thinks I am a kind of saint.  Now, you know better,” Brown nodded his assent with his eyes steadily on the other’s face, “and I know better, and I am not going to play the hypocrite for any man.”

“Quite right,” said Brown; “she does not ask you to.”

“So it is there I want you to help me out.”

“Certainly,” said Brown, “count on me for all I can do.  But that does not touch the question so far as I can see it, even remotely.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is not a question of what I am to do in the matter.”

“What can I do?” cried French, losing his judicial tone.  “Do you think I am going to accept the role of moral preceptor to that youth and play the hypocrite?”

“Who asks you to?” said Brown, with a touch of scorn.  “Be honest in the matter.”

“Oh, come now, Brown, let us not chop words.  Look at the thing reasonably.  I came for help and not—­”

“Count on me for all the help I can give,” said Brown promptly, “but let’s look at your part.”

“Well,” said French, “we will divide up on this thing.  I will undertake to look after the boy’s physical and—­well—­secular interests, if you like.  I will teach him to ride, shoot, box, and handle the work on the ranch, in short, educate him in things practical, while you take charge of his moral training.”