“Excuse me, sir. My, but that certainly is fine of you.”
He reached over and shook his father’s hand with a vigor born of great enthusiasm.
“Trust me for doing it right. If I don’t make a thorough job of it you may—may”—Cranny stopped, in perplexity—“douse my glim,” he added, with a happy thought. “And then Willie won’t have to go along, either, eh, dad? Just as you say, he doesn’t seem to take any interest in Circle T Ranch or——”
“Of course Willie will go,” said Mr. Beaumont, quietly.
“Why—why—what’s the use?” demurred Cranny. “After acting the way he has about it, seems to me it would be better for him to stay home and help at the office.”
Mr. Beaumont smiled.
“And, when you come to think of it,” went on Cranny, “for a tame little chap like Willie, it’s kind of dangerous out among the cow-punchers and big herds of longhorns. Why, I’ve seen——”
“How long have you thought so?” asked his father, with a quizzical look.
“Why—that is—I—I——” stammered Cranny. Then, as he suddenly realized his inconsistency, he stopped short, with a rather sickly grin. “It’s one on me, dad,” he admitted.
Mr. Beaumont’s eyebrows knit, in mild reproof.