Now he began to see the drift of
Overland's then frequent references to Collie. And there was a
girl,--mentioned by Overland almost reverently,--the Rose Girl, Louise
Lacharme, of whom Anne Marshall had written much in eulogy to him. And
Winthrop himself?
His swift introspection left him aware that of them all he alone seemed
to lack a definite aim. Making money--mining--was still to him a game,
interesting and healthful, but play. To Overland it was life. Winthrop
saw himself as he was. His improved health scoffed at the idea of
becoming sentimental about it. He laughed, and Overland, turning,
regarded him with bushy, interrogative brows.
"Nothing," said Winthrop.
"Ain't you feelin' good lately, Billy?"
"I'm all right."
"Glad of that. It's good to forget you got such a thing as health if you
want to keep it. If you get to lookin' for it, like as not you'll find
it's gone."
"I'm looking for something entirely different. Something you
have--something that I never possessed."
"I don't know anything I got that you haven't 'less it's that new
Stetson I got in Los. You can have her, Billy, and welcome. Your lid
_is_ gettin' on the bum."
"Not that," laughed Winthrop.
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