“Can yuh beat that, Len?” said Breezy, coming to the door to watch the boy out of sight.
“No, yuh can’t, Breezy. That kid is deep, I tell yuh. There’s a lot of stuff in his little head. But it don’t seem like he’s my kid. He was such a little geezer when I went away, and now he talks like a man. Breezy”—Len lifted his chin, the lines of his face tightening quickly—“I want that boy. I didn’t never think much about it since I came back. Seems that he’d growed away from me, but right now I want him. He’s a man’s boy, that little feller. But when yuh come right down to cases, I ain’t got no right to him; not with my reputation.”
“The law can’t stop yuh, Len. Charley Prentice never adopted him. He’s yore son.”
“Oh, I know that, Breezy. He’s only seven, and he don’t savvy what his dad—don’t savvy my reputation. After a while he’ll realise what it all means, and then mebbe he won’t have no respect for me.”
“That kid,” declared Breezy warmly, “won’t never go back on yuh, Len.”
“Shore nice of yuh to say that, Breezy. Mebbe yo’re right, but it’s a chance. What do yuh think of Prentice gettin’ drunk?”
“I dunno. Ain’t no crime, unless yuh go too far. A feller in his position hadn’t ort to drink much. But I reckon it’s his business. Lord knows, Prentice is old enough to know what he wants. How’s things at the Box S? What about that girl?”
Len shook his head, and a smile creased his lips.
“Who knows, Breezy? She don’t know a thing about the job. But she’s willin’ to admit it. Whisperin’ and Sailor are already quarrellin’ over her. But that’s nothin’ new; they quarrel over religion, politics, love and war. Whisperin’ is nice to the girl, and Sailor swears Whisperin’s in love with her. Neither of them realise that they are growing old. Sailor won’t have nothin’ to do with her.”
“I suppose she laughs at both of ’em, eh?”