“I can see it, Grandfather. I—I’d give anything to have been with you in those days. Lord, what a physique!”
The fierce old eyes sparkled. The bony fingers gripped the arms of the wheel chair like steel claws.
“That’s the King blood. Give me two legs and I’d be a King yet, old as I am—instead of a hunk of meat in a wheel chair.”
“It’s the spirit that counts, Grandfather,” Rawley observed hearteningly, his eyes still on the picture but lifting now to the old man’s face. “The picture’s like you yet.”
The old man grunted doubtfully, his eyes fixed sharply upon Rawley’s face. His fingers drummed restlessly upon the arm of his chair, as if he were seeing in the young man his own care-free youth, and was yearning over it in secret. Indeed, as he stood there in the light of the old-fashioned lamp, Rawley King might have been mistaken for the original of the picture with the costume set fifty years ahead.
“Johnny, get the box.” Grandfather King spoke without taking his eyes off Rawley.
The old Indian slipped away. In a moment he returned with a square metal box which he placed on the old man’s knees. Rawley found himself wondering what his mother would say when he told her that Grandfather King had sent for him, was actually talking to him, giving him a glimpse of that sealed past of his. He watched his grandfather fit a key into the lock of the metal box.
“You’re a King, thank God. I’ve watched you grow. Six feet and over, and no water in your blood, by the looks. You’re like I was at your age. Johnny knows. He can remember how I looked when I had two legs. Here. You take these—they’re yours, and all the good you can get out of them. Read ’em both. Read ’em till you get the good that’s in ’em. If you’re a King, you’ll do it.”
He held out two worn little books. Rawley took them, eyeing them queerly. One was a Bible, the old-fashioned, leather-bound pocket size edition, with a metal clasp. The other book was smaller; a diary, evidently, with a leather band going around, the end slipping under a flap to hold it secure.
“I will—you bet!” Rawley made his voice as hearty as his puzzlement would permit. “Thanks, Grandfather.”