“That’s a common need,” grinned Hashknife, as he got up from his seat. “I reckon yore need is as worthy as most; so we’ll fly the kite, Larry. What’s the rest of yore name?”
“There’s some argument about that,” said Larry seriously, grasping the kite in both hands and kicking the tail away from his feet. “We’ll go out on the flat near my house, where we can get a run at it.” He led the way, while the lanky cowboy followed him, grinning a little. There was plenty of open country, but of wind there was none, and after a few ineffectual trials they decided that kite-flying was a failure.
“Yuh need wind,” explained Hashknife.
“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Larry. “We don’t get much wind about here. What’s yore name?”
“My name is Hartley, Larry. Why did you say there was an argument about yore name?”
“Because my real dad went to jail for a long time, and my other dad was named Prentice. But my name is Ayres, just the same. Do you know Len Ayres? He was a bank robber—but he ain’t now.”
“Oh, I see,” nodded Hashknife thoughtfully. “But yo’re still livin’ with yore other dad, ain’t yuh?”
“I’m still stayin’ at his place. But he’s drunk. He’s the cashier of the bank.”
“Oh, yeah—and he’s drunk, eh? Not so good for a bank cashier, is it, Larry?”
“I guess not. He didn’t used to drink at all, but now he’s drunk all the time. Me and Minnie keep away from him, ’cause he swears at us. He’s got a gun, too.”