James Fox drew from an inner pocket a small card photograph of a young boy with a very winning face. Ernest was attracted, for unlike many boys of his age he liked younger children. He looked at the picture long and earnestly.
“It is a sweet face,” he said at last.
“Isn’t it?” asked the proud father.
“Is his mother living?”
“No.”
“Was there no difficulty in getting it taken?”
“I suppose you mean on account of my profession. Well, there might be around here, but this was taken in Minneapolis—about a year ago. It was one of the few visits that Frank has made with me.”
“Are you going to bring him up to your business?”
“Take care, boy!” said the outlaw, frowning. “Don’t be impertinent.”
“I don’t mean to be. Do you think the question an improper one?”