“Yeou got me there, ’cause I never did know,” observed Perk, taking yet another look at the face within the gold frame. “Aint sech a tough looker as we know he is, eh, ole pal?”
“Yes, that’s a fact; but then this was evidently taken years ago, most likely, before he became so hardened. I wonder—”
“What neow, Jack?”
“That handsome little boy must be some relative of Slim’s,” said Jack, on a hazard; “if he was old enough I’d begin to believe the kid was his own child—they call her Grandmammy Ferguson, remember—yes, that would square things I’d reckon, Perk.”
“Aint it won-der-ful?” the other was saying, half to himself apparently; “jest to think o’ us arunnin’ smack into somebody connected with the man we was responsible for sendin’ to the pen years ago. ’Bout one chanct in a million sech a thing could happen; but it shore has.”
Jack also showed that he was feeling about the same as his comrade; indeed it was one of the queerest episodes he had ever met up with.
“If that turns out to be a fact,” he went on to comment, “I imagine Garrabarnt behind the bars would give considerable for a glimpse of that kid’s sweet face.”
“I wouldn’t blame him any at that, Jack. How ’bout the kid—dye kinder guess he’ll have a bad time with that leg?”
“The doctor will be able to say after he’s had a lookover,” came the confident answer. “My opinion is it’ll prove to be a simple sprain, and if such is the case the child will only have to keep quiet for a spell. There’s a car stopping at the gate, and the man getting out has the look of a professional—yes, he’s carrying a little satchel in the bargain, so it must be the doctor she sent after.”
This proved to be the case, for the young man spoke to them on entering, and seemed very agreeable.