gentleman laconically said he could feed the whole State of Montana for less than six thousand dollars. Beyond that there was no comment. Brewster, in dire trepidation, hastened to the office of the attorneys. They smiled when he burst in upon them.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "does the miserly old hayseed expect me to spend a million for newspapers, cigarettes and Boston terriers? I thought he would be reasonable!"
"He evidently has seen the newspaper accounts of your dinner, and this is merely his comment," said Mr. Ripley.
"It's either a warning, or else he's ambiguous in his compliments," growled Brewster, disgustedly.
"I don't believe he disapproved, Mr. Brewster. In the west the old gentleman is widely known as a wit."
"A wit, eh? Then he'll appreciate an answer from me. Have you a telegraph blank, Mr. Grant?"
Two minutes later the following telegram to Swearengen Jones was awaiting the arrival of a messenger-boy, and Brewster was blandly assuring Messrs. Grant & Ripley that he did not "care a rap for the consequences":
