His mild face beamed. Gentleness and affection shone in every line of it. And somehow his diffidence, the realization of his ignorance of the work demanded of him, were absorbed and lost to his consciousness in the wonderful parental delight of teaching his offspring.
“Say, kiddies,” he began, with that soft inflection that seems so much a part of some men of rough manners, “I want you to listen careful to a yarn I’m goin’ to tell you about. Y’see––”
He hesitated, and unconsciously one hand was lifted and passed across his brow with a movement that suggested puzzlement. It was as though he were not quite sure whither his story were going to lead him.
The gambler nodded encouragingly.
“Bully,” he murmured, turning his eyes just for one moment in the little man’s direction. But it was only for a moment. The next he was staring absorbedly out at the bush opposite, like a man lost in some train of thought far removed from the matter in hand. His beady eyes stared unsmilingly, but with curious intentness.
However, Scipio was far too much concerned with what lay before him to think of anything else. But the sharply spoken encouragement spurred him, and he went ahead.
“Now, maybe you both heard tell how God made this funny old world for us to live in,” he went on, endeavoring to give lightness to his manner. “He made Sufferin’ Creek, too––”
Toby coughed, and Sandy whispered audibly to him.
“I don’t guess Zip ought to run Sufferin’ Creek in this yarn,” he said seriously. “Sufferin’ Creek don’t seem right in a Bible talk.”
Scipio waited, and then, ignoring the comment, labored clumsily on.