"If he doesn't quit his nonsense," I replied, "he'll soon be past helping. He doesn't go out on his range, his few cattle wander everywhere, his shack is in a beastly state, and he himself is going to pieces, miserable fool that he is." For it did seem a shame that a fellow should so throw himself away for nothing.
"You are hard," said Moore, with his eyes upon me.
"Hard? Isn't it true?" I answered, hotly. "Then, there's his mother at home."
"Yes, but can he help it? Is it all his fault?" he replied, with his steady eyes still looking into me.
"His fault? Whose fault, then?"
"What of the Noble Seven? Have they anything to do with this?" His voice was quiet, but there was an arresting intensity in it.
"Well," I said, rather weakly, "a man ought to look after himself."
"Yes!—and his brother a little." Then he added: "What have any of you done to help him? The Duke could have pulled him up a year ago if he had been willing to deny himself a little, and so with all of you. You all do just what pleases you regardless of any other, and so you help one another down."
