Denny smiled comprehendingly. He shifted his big body to a more comfortable and far less awkward position.
“I see,” he agreed.
Somehow, where it would have been an utter impossibility to have spoken lightly to him the night before, he found it very easy now to understand and meet half way the frivolity of the fat, grinning man before him.
“Well, when he left town about eight years ago, his going was just a trifle hasty. He––he took about everything there was in the cash-drawer of Benson’s store with him––except maybe a lead slug or two––and there are some who think he only overlooked those.”
The gurgle of sheer delight that broke from the lips of the man in brown was spontaneously contagious.
“Just about as your servant had it figured out last night,” he fairly chirped. Then he slipped one hand through the crook of Denny’s elbow. “I guess I’ll have to take a chance on you. It’s too good to keep all to myself.” He led the way back to the empty truck. “And you ought to be safe, too, for judging from the sentiments that were expressed after you left last night, you––er––don’t run very strong with this community, either.”
Again he paused, his eyelid cocked in comical suggestion. Instead of narrowing ominously, as they might have twelve hours before, Denny’s own eyes lighted appreciatively at the statement. He even 98 waited an instant while he pondered with mock gravity.
“I reckon,” he drawled finally, “that I’ll have to confess that I’ve never been what you might call a general favorite.”
The newspaper man’s head lifted a little. He flashed a covertly surprised glance at the boy’s sharp profile. It was far from being the sort of an answer that he had expected.