pail shortly after midnight. Charleton gave the young man an amused glance.
"You look sort of bored, Doug! Come outside and talk a little."
Douglas gave a quick glance around the hall—at Judith, swooping in great circles with Scott Parsons, at Inez dancing with his father. "All right!" he said, and followed Charleton out into the moonlight. They perched on the buck fence and smoked for a time in silence.
"That's a good horse of Young Jeff's, eh?" said Charleton finally.
"Not as good as the dapple gray he gave me will be when I get time to break him," replied Douglas. "I don't know! I'm not as interested in things as I was."
"What's the matter?" asked Charleton, sympathetically.
"I guess Oscar's killing upset me," said Douglas vaguely.
"I don't suppose you ever heard of Weltschmerz," mused Charleton. "It's a kind of mental stomach-ache most young fellows get about the time they begin to fall in love."
Douglas grunted.
"Though you were pretty young to run into Oscar that way," Charleton went on thoughtfully.
"It isn't that; though I was scared stiff, of course. But it was seeing Oscar laid in the ground to rot and hearing you and Peter and Dad say that was all there was to it."
Charleton nodded. "I know! But you'll reach my state of don't give a hoop-la, when you're a little older. Wine and women and a good horse. They help."
Douglas drew a shuddering breath. "Is that all you've found out? All?"
