“Say! what are you about?” demanded Pratt. But for a very good reason he did not seek to pull away.
“Let me look at you again,” commanded the man who had taken this liberty. “Turn your face up this way–you hear me? My soul! I knew I couldn’t be mistaken. What did you say this boy’s name was, Dan?” he shot at the Captain over his shoulder.
“That’s Pratt Sanderson,” chuckled Captain Rugley. “Something of a tenderfoot, but a good lad, Lon, a good lad.”
“You bet he is!” declared Jonas P. Lonergan, vigorously. “I knew his name when you spoke it, and now I know his face. He’s the image of his mother–that’s what he is.”
Then he turned to Pratt again and roared: “Do you know who I am, boy?”
“I fancy you are the–the old partner of Captain Rugley whom he has expected so long,” Pratt said, puzzled but smiling. He had never chanced to hear the expected guest called by any other name than “Lon.”
“I’m Jonas P. Lonergan!” exclaimed the old man. “Now do you know me. I’m your mother’s half-brother. I knew you folks lived out this way somewhere, but I’ve not seen you since you were a little shaver.
“But I’ll never forget how my little half-sister used to look, and you are just like her when she was young,” declared Mr. Lonergan. “Come in here, you young rascal, and let me get a closer look at you.”
“My Uncle Jonas?” gasped Pratt, in amazement.
“That’s what I am!” declared Mr. Lonergan. “Your old uncle who never did much of anything for you–or the rest of the fam’ly–all his life. But he’s goin’ to be able to do something now.