“The ‘Padre’! Why, I thought Mr. Kenyon was a farmer!”
The man nodded.
“So he is. You see folks call him Padre because he’s a real good feller,” he explained. Then he added: “He’s got white hair, too. A whole heap of it. That sort o’ clinched it.”
The dark eyes had become quite serious again. There was even a tender light in them as he searched the girl’s fair face. He was wondering what was yet to come. He was wondering how this interview was to bear on the future. In spite of his easy manner he dreaded lest the threats of Mrs. Ransford were about to be put into execution.
Joan accepted his explanation.
“I see,” she said. Then, after a pause: “Then who are you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m ‘Buck,’” he responded, with a short laugh.
“Buck—who?”
“Jest plain ‘Buck.’” Again came that short laugh.
“Mr. Kenyon’s son?”