Was Mr. Beaumont actually making sport of him before all that crowd? It seemed like it. And yet the expression on his face did not seem to be assumed.
“Yes, Cranny, I’m proud of you,” went on Mr. Beaumont, rapidly. “All the information I wanted—nothing unthought of; every detail clear and concise! But why did you not write the letter yourself, instead of getting Willie to do it for you?”
An idea suddenly flashed through Cranny’s mind which dispelled his bewilderment.
“I—I——” he began. Then all the cool composure of his nature came to his assistance. He gulped once or twice.
“Dad,” he said, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, “if you have the kind of information you want, don’t give me a bit of credit for it. All that belongs to——” He laid his hand on the shoulder of his father’s ward.
“Willie Sloan! Why, what do you mean?” cried Mr. Beaumont, while the florid face of Mr. Sharswood exhibited all the symptoms of extreme astonishment.
“Just what I say,” answered Cranny, frankly. “This young chap got ahead of me.”
The big lad thereupon explained clearly and concisely just how matters stood.
“Well, well, Beaumont, I call that a manly act on your son’s part,” exclaimed Mr. Sharswood. “It comes hard to admit one’s faults as freely as he has. I admire him for it; I do, indeed, Beaumont. Cranny—your hand!”
The boys felt considerable curiosity to learn the reason for the appearance of Mr. Sharswood at Border City; but nothing was said on the subject while the party was on its way to the Carroll Inn.