“Willie is young”—she smiled—“and perhaps Cranston does not always set him a good example.”
“I can’t talk as if the words came out of a grammar,” mumbled the big lad, whose eyes had been continually drifting toward a partly-open window which commanded a view of the lawn and roadway.
“I certainly have never heard you do so yet,” said his father, dryly. “You must remember that men are judged not only by——”
“Whoop! By Jupiter, I really believe the crowd has come at last!” yelled Cranny, jumping excitedly to his feet. “Whoop! Hooray! See ’em, dad? One—two—three—four—five—yes; they are actually coming in. I’ll bet that’s Bob Somers opening the gate—yes, I’m sure it is.”
Then Cranny, with another wild “Hooray!” slammed his chair aside, and would have dashed toward the door had not a word from his mother stopped him.
“Wait, Cranny,” she pleaded; “don’t act so like a wild Indian. The boys will be here in a moment.” She gazed with interest toward the figures rapidly moving across the field of view. “My, what a strong, sturdy-looking lot,” she murmured. “Perhaps, if they would be willing to let Willie join them——”
The crisp ringing of the electric bell interrupted her, and Cranny, unable to restrain himself longer, rushed out of the room. He nearly knocked down the domestic, who was hurrying to answer the summons; then threw open the screen door with a violence that seriously threatened its hinges.
“Bob Somers and Dave; and—and——”
The hubbub of voices at the door increased to such proportions that the interested Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont could only catch an occasional word. And it lasted for a wonderfully long time, too.
“Dad—mother—here they are! Come right in, fellows—no ceremony—mind now.” Cranny, happy and excited, burst into the room. “Whoop! Say, Bob, remember that time at Circle T Ranch when Spud Ward told us about the mystery o’ Lone Pine? This is Willie Sloan, the pater’s ward. Here, Dave, if you can’t get in the door we’ll have it widened.”