“That he was a six-footer,” piped Willie, “and called him Doctor Clifton—that’s all.”
A faint twinkle came into the financier’s eye. He glanced at the two men and row of smiling lads.
“That’s so,” he said, slowly. The twinkle deepened; then he broke into a hearty laugh.
“Well,” exclaimed Cranny, an instant later, “isn’t he a sly little duffer, Dave? That’s the time he put one over on you, Major.”
“Cranny—Cranny!” remonstrated his father.
The financier smiled.
“I have discovered that our young friend Willie has a guileless, innocent way about him,” he said, good-humoredly. “He did what no one ever succeeded in doing before—completely hoodwinked me.”
“I hope—I hope you’re not angry, sir,” began Willie. “It seemed too good a joke to spoil it. And, besides, isn’t he a six-footer?”
Tommy’s face had reached the limit of crimson.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, forget it!” he snapped.