“If you insist upon it, we will,” laughed Bob. “’Tis true.”
“An’ I try so hard to be perfect,” gurgled Cranny. “Fellows, I’m goin’ to reform. Honest I am. Every time I don’t sound those final letters just give me a punch!”
“No, that wouldn’t do at all!” protested Dick. “No tragedy in our crowd if you please. Besides, you enjoy life too much!”
“Then s’pose instead that whenever I catch myself makin’ a slip I give one of you chaps a punch as a reminder of——”
“Oh, dear me, no!” broke in Bob. “Tom, you know, doesn’t carry a whole dispensary with him.”
“All right, fellows.” The Tacoma lad’s mirth increased. “I’ll do all the reforming by my own strength of will! And——”
“Listen—listen! Did you hear it—the final g’s and d’s at last!” cried Dick. “Hooray! Boys, what a day this has been!”
About two hours later Cranny, whose singular resolve to remain in town held firm in spite of Tom’s pleadings, stood on the steps of the Ranger headquarters and watched the boys preparing for departure. His face just then wore a rather clouded expression.
“When will you chaps be back?” he asked.
“Before very many days,” answered Tom. He sighed. “Too bad, fellows, our stay in Texas is almost over. Now, Cranny Beaumont, what are you going to do while we’re away?”