Then the old Don planned a
deer-hunting trip in the mountains, but I had to go back to work, and
left Henry and the old Don to take the trip without me. While they were
in the mountains, Josephine came home, and Henry Howell's stay
lengthened out to a month. But I did not know until long afterward that
the two had met.
Billy was pretty quiet all winter, worked hard and went out but
little--he was thinking about something. One day I came home and found
him writing a letter. "What now, Billy?" I asked.
"Writing to my Mexican girl," said he.
"I thought you had got over that a long time ago?"
"So did I, but I hadn't. I've been trying to please somebody else
besides myself in this matter, and I'm done. I'm going to work for Bill
now."
"Take an old man's advice, Billy, and don't write that girl a line--go
and see her."
"Oh, I can fix it all right by letter, and then run down there and see
her."
"Don't do it."
"I'll risk it."
A week later Billy and I sat on the veranda of the company's
hash-foundry, figuring up our time and smoking our cob meerschaums,
when one of the boys who had been to the office, placed two letters in
Billy's hands.
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