“I don’t want to speak harshly of your ward, Beaumont,” he said, “but, really, I fear you are too easy with him. Keep a tight rein on the lad. And, as a special favor, my dear sir, send some one else to my office whenever important papers have to be delivered.”
“Well, I’m not asking to come, am I?” growled Willie, in a sepulchral whisper.
Mr. Horatio Sharswood glared sternly at the office boy, while Willie glared back.
“What a cheeky little lad!” exclaimed Mr. Sharswood, breaking an awkward silence. “He sits there just as calm as you please, staring a man out of countenance. It’s extraordinary. No, I can’t stay another instant—not even the tenth of a second. Good-bye.”
The door opened with a jerk, Mr. Horatio Sharswood’s stout form remained silhouetted against the clear light outside for scarcely a moment—then he was gone.
Mr. Beaumont was too considerate a man to say very much to his ward before Cranny; he didn’t care to hurt the feelings of any one. Willie would, perhaps, respond to kindness; but any attempt to drive him might only result in his becoming more unruly and stubborn.
But a little later, when Cranny had left the office, Mr. Beaumont talked earnestly to his ward. Willie listened respectfully, and promised to do better, even brightening up as Mr. Beaumont pictured the reward which almost invariably follows hard and conscientious work. Then, when the gentleman went into another room, he worked hard for at least five minutes.
Cranny and his father’s ward were allowed to leave the office at an early hour that afternoon, much to the former’s relief. Cranny couldn’t get Bob Somers’ letter or the Rambler Club out of his mind; he pictured to himself all the good times they were going to have at Circle T Ranch, and the fate which he feared was going to keep him tied down to office work seemed hard indeed.
As the two walked along, he took Bob’s letter from his pocket and waved it before Willie’s face.
“See that, kid?” he demanded.