CRANNY’S PLAN
“Well, what are you going to do about it, dad?” remarked Cranny, two
days later.
Father and son were seated in wicker chairs on the portico, enjoying
a pleasant breeze which gently rustled the leaves, as it sighed its
way out toward the bay. The distorted shadow of the house cut across
a freshly-mown lawn; cool, silvery moonlight lay beyond, its pale
rays detaching from obscurity houses and clumps of trees. Patches of
mysterious gloom stretched here and there, while the placid bay, far
beneath, blended insensibly outward into the soft, grayish blue of a
cloudless sky.
Mr. Beaumont pondered a moment before replying.
“I don’t know, Cranny,” he answered. “Willie is a curious lad. He
certainly does not realize the importance of being in earnest. I can’t
arouse him; nothing I do or say has the slightest effect.”
“Loafing just as much as ever?” asked Cranny.
“Whenever I come into the office unexpectedly I find him either idly
drumming his heels against the chair, or lying back, gazing listlessly
into space.”
“Maybe he’s a genius,” said Cranny, with a smile.
“If he is, I haven’t discovered any signs of it yet.”
“Come, dad, tell me what you are going to do about it?” repeated
Cranny, a curious, eager expression flitting over his face.
“Frankly, I don’t know. Willie is more of a hindrance than a help in
the business. Sharswood is offended--he’s a touchy, excitable chap.
What the boy will do next----”
“Perhaps I can tell you what he ought to do,” interrupted Cranny.
“What do you mean?”
“Just this.”
Cranny leaned over, and, with a degree of earnestness unusual to him,
spoke in a low tone, while his father listened in silence.
“Well,” queried the lad, as he presently resumed his former position,
“doesn’t that strike you as a scheme?”
Mr. Beaumont still made no answer, but continued to gaze in an
abstracted sort of way at the moonlit distance, while Cranny, eager and
impatient, eyed him sharply.
“Well, sir?” his son once more pleaded.
“There is a great deal in what you say,” admitted Mr. Beaumont.
“Association with a lot of lively, energetic young chaps, such as Bob
Somers and his friends, ought to do a world of good. But----” He paused.
“But what?” demanded Cranny.
“Circle T Ranch is a long way from here. I should feel uneasy about
him. Life among the cowboys, and out on the range is full of danger at
times; you know that, son.”
“Oh, I’d look after him, all right.”
“You?”
“Why, of course. It wouldn’t do to let him go unless I went, too,” said
Cranny, glibly. “No siree. But think what it might do for him, dad.
Willie needs to be waked up; he isn’t any use to you now--never will be
if he doesn’t take a mighty big brace. And those boys ought to do him
more good in a couple of weeks than everybody else put together could
do in a couple of years.”
Mr. Beaumont’s face was wreathed in a broad smile.
“Your argument is very ingenious, Cranny; I see your point--you
are entirely willing to assume all the worries and restrictions of
guardianship for the time being, eh?”
Cranny grinned at the gentle sarcasm.
“Take my advice, sir. I’m not saying that I don’t want to go to Circle
T Ranch the worst way myself; but you’ve got to do something about
Willie. I’ll bet the little chap won’t talk the way he does after he’s
been out with those Rambler chaps a few weeks. Now don’t say no. He’s
just about the same size as Tommy Clifton, and they ought to get chummy
together.”
“Clifton is a good little chap,” said Mr. Beaumont, reflectively.
“You bet he is. Gets mighty hot, though, if you say anything about his
size,” chuckled Cranny.
“Say, it’s nice and warm back there in the moonlight,” came in a piping
voice.
Willie Sloan suddenly appeared from behind the portico.
“Ha, ha!” roared Cranny. “Why, you silly little duffer, the moon
doesn’t give out any heat.”
“Listen to the professor,” jeered Willie, ambling slowly up the steps.
“Like the mischief it doesn’t. Go back there and feel it.” He seated
himself on the rail. “Isn’t it a white-hot ball, Mr. Beaumont?”
“Oh, Willie, you’ll be the death of me!” laughed Cranston.
“The moon is illuminated by the sun’s rays,” explained Mr. Beaumont,
“and astronomers tell us that it has no atmosphere, and is so cold that
not a vestige of life could exist upon its surface.”
“Oh, goodness! Now isn’t that odd?” murmured Willie, with a peculiar
little gasp. “Isn’t hot, after all, eh? But how do those old codgers
know?--They weren’t ever up there.”
“Willie,” spoke up his guardian, suddenly, “how would you like to take
a vacation?”
“Eh?” demanded Willie, apparently somewhat startled.
“Cranny expects some of his young friends here in a few days--they are
on their way to Circle T Ranch, in Wyoming. Do you care to go along?”
“I?”
“Yes, you!” cried Cranny, impatiently.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe.”
Cranny snorted with disgust.
“Why, you’d have the grandest time you ever had in your life,” he said,
“and----”
“I mightn’t like the crowd,” declared Willie, calmly. “And say: don’t
those chaps sleep out on the grass; and cook by moonlight?--I mean by
the light of the moon. And ride bronchos? And shoot grizzlies? and all
that sort of thing? You told me they did, Cran. Well, that’s not my
style. A nice little room and three square meals a day is good enough
for me.”
“Then you don’t care to go?” asked Mr. Beaumont.
“Oh, I’m not sure,” answered Willie, indifferently. “Say, Cranny, did
you ever see a shooting star?”
“No! Nor you, either,” returned Cranny, highly disgusted.
“Like fun I haven’t. Wouldn’t it be great if the moon should shoot?
Why do stars shoot, Mr. Beaumont?”
His guardian smiled.
“What you saw were simply meteors,” he replied, “and----”
Willie gave another of his peculiar little gasps.
“Not stars, after all?” he said. “That’s queer. What are you so mad
about, Cranny?”
But Cranny made no answer. He began to see his bright dream slowly fade
away; and all on account of Willie’s utter foolishness and stupidity.
He resolved that the little office boy should be enlightened regarding
the error of his ways, and that immediately.
With his forehead knit into a tremendous frown, the boy presently rose
to his feet.
“Want to take a walk, Willie?” he inquired.
“Say, did you ever hear of a chap gettin’ moonstruck?” asked Willie.
“It’s shining something awful to-night.”
“That’s more’n you are,” retorted Cranny. “Coming? Good-bye, dad! We
won’t be long.”
Once safely outside of hearing distance the big lad began to talk
earnestly. He painted the most alluring pictures of life at Circle T
Ranch; and poured into Willie’s ears a most glowing account of the
Ramblers and their exploits.
“And now don’t tell me you’d miss a dandy chance like this!” he
concluded. “Just think of the time we’ll have! Talk it up strong, and
the pater’ll stand for our going.”
“Say, Cran, you’re awfully good to me!” said Willie, with suspicious
sweetness. “Thanks! But I don’t know that I’m so keen on it. That
sounds to me like a pretty rough bunch, anyway.”
Whereupon Cranny, so highly disgusted that he forgot diplomacy and
the gentle art of persuasion, promptly upset Willie, and, seated on
his wriggling form, tickled his neck with a blade of grass, at the
same time expressing some very forcible views of his conduct, past and
present.
“And I’ll see that you make a change, all right,” he announced, as he
got up and walked away.