“Hello, Mr. Beaumont!” called out Willie, who led the advance.
Then he stopped short, gaping in astonishment at a stout, florid-faced man, who, suit case in hand, stood directly behind his guardian.
“Mr. Sharswood!” he gasped, faintly.
Yes, actually, it was Mr. Sharswood, of Tacoma.
Cranny, too, was amazed. But even more amazed to see his father’s face wearing a genial, happy smile.
“Hello, Cranny! How are you, boys?”
The idle citizens witnessed the meeting, and listened to scraps of conversation with the greatest interest.
“Cranny, I’m delighted. You have done wonderfully well—splendidly,” they heard Mr. Beaumont say, as he grasped his son’s hand and shook it heartily. “And I told Mr. Sharswood your mission would be successful.”
Cranny Beaumont almost staggered; he stared in utter bewilderment into his father’s face, while, above the rapid flow of conversation which followed, was heard a peculiar little gasping chuckle.
“Eh—eh?” stammered the big lad.