“Yes, I guess he is. But Charley Prentice is your dad now.”
“How do you figure that out? How many dads can a feller have, anyway?”
Baggs took great pains to explain to Larry just how it happened that his name was Prentice. The boy listened.
“Aw right,” he said defiantly. “Then my name ain’t Prentice, it’s Ayres. Len Ayres is my father.”
“Yes, that’s true, Larry. After he was sent to prison, your mother married Charley Prentice. You were two years old at that time. But wouldn’t you rather have a father who is cashier of a bank than to have one just out of prison?”
“Can I take my pick?”
Baggs laughed softly. “I suppose you can, Larry. Mr. Prentice has been mighty good to you, young fellow, and you will be very wise to stay with him. If you want my advice⸺”
“You said I could take my pick,” reminded the boy quickly.
“You listen to me, young man.” Baggs’s voice assumed authority. “You are just at the age when you need some one capable of looking after your welfare. You are not old enough to judge for yourself. Charley Prentice can do this; Ayres can’t. For all you know, he may be back in prison within a month, and then you would be a county charge. Know what that means? No, of course not. Well, you stick to Charley Prentice.”
Baggs adjusted his hat and walked away, leaving the boy looking after him with troubled eyes.