“Goodness; it’s for Cran!” he exclaimed.
“You told me that he is coming here to-morrow morning, with the intention of starting work in earnest, I believe,” said the Major, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Yes, sir!”
“The telegram may be important. Better call him up at Lone Pine.”
The telephone stood in one corner of the room, and Willie was soon imparting the information to Cranny.
“All right, Cran; just a second,” he said, a moment later.
Hastily tearing open the envelope, Willie glanced over the telegram, then uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“Why—why—goodness!”—he stared hard at the Major—“Mr. Beaumont is coming on!” he cried. His mouth was turned toward the telephone again. “Cran—I say, Cran—your father will be here this afternoon at five-forty. No; it’s not a joke! This afternoon, I say.”
“I can feel an awful row coming,” sounded over the wire, in Cranny’s voice. It was much weaker than usual, and had a sort of despairing ring. “If dad had only given me one week’s more time—just one week! I can’t blame him for feeling sore, though. Gee!”
“Cheer up, Cran.”