PREPARATIONS
“It seemed just like being in Kingswood again--to see those boys,”
said Mrs. Beaumont, as she and her husband and the two lads gathered
in the drawing-room. “What a fine, lively lot they are; and isn’t it
positively extraordinary the way Tommy has popped up? Did you like
them, Willie?”
“Oh, kinder; seemed a bit fresh to me.”
“Oh, Willie!”
“Well, I didn’t see anything remarkable about them. That fat one thinks
a heap of himself, doesn’t he? Looks lazy, too. Better overhaul all the
chairs he sat on; if they aren’t weakened, I’m surprised.”
But Cranny paid no attention. He had withdrawn to a far corner of the
room, with his father, and was engaged in a low, earnest conversation.
“Willie doesn’t care to go--that is easily seen,” Mr. Beaumont was
saying. His round, good-natured face lighted up with a quizzical
expression, as he regarded Cranny’s doleful countenance. “Still, what
Bob Somers said this evening has made me reconsider my determination
not to let you go.”
“Eh--eh?” exclaimed Cranny, almost stammering in his eagerness. “What!
Do you really mean it, dad?”
“That depends, son.”
“Upon what?”
“You.”
Cranny sank into a chair with a great sigh of relief. “Then it’s all
settled,” he murmured. “Great Scott! don’t you know I’m capable of
doing heroic stunts?”
“Cranny!”
“Oh, I forgot, dad. But, for goodness’ sake, do tell me.”
“I’ve heard about Mr. Warfield Carroll; he is a New York financier and
promoter of recognized ability. If Mr. Carroll has considered Border
City of sufficient importance to warrant his taking a prominent part
in its development, I, as a business man, am inclined to look into the
conditions there.”
“Ah, ha; a light breaks in upon me,” gurgled Cranny, hilariously. “You
want me--me--to do the investigating; and put you wise to----”
“Cranny!”
“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.
“It is human nature, Cranny, to argue from whatever standpoint most
closely affects our own interests,” he said. “Now that you can go
irrespective of Willie, you are perhaps not quite so willing to
undertake the responsible duties of looking after him. Do you still
think the boys may be able to liven him up--to prod his slow nature
into activity?”
“If they can’t, he’s a hopeless case,” answered Cranny, anxious to
redeem himself in his father’s eyes. “A few weeks at Circle T certainly
ought to put some ginger into him.”
“I’m glad you think so, though your manner of expressing it is not
altogether elegant. Now, of course, you may combine business with
pleasure; but the main object is to post me as well as you can. And if
you consider it advisable I shall come on. I know you are young for
such a mission, but----”
“Young? Why, goodness gracious, I’m almost seventeen!” cried Cranny, in
mild astonishment.
His father smiled indulgently.
“When you reach my age, seventeen will not seem like a very long span
of life.” He raised his voice: “Willie!”
“Hey?” said Willie.
“I wish to speak to you a moment.”
“What have I done now, I wonder?” murmured the boy.
He plumped himself down in a chair close by, and, with his hands
stuffed into his trousers pockets, waited for his guardian to speak.
“Willie, I have decided to give you a vacation,” said Mr. Beaumont.
“You and Cranny are to spend a few weeks in Wyoming, with Bob Somers
and his friends.”
“Oh!” said Willie.
“Aren’t you pleased?”
Willie pondered a moment.
“Oh, kinder,” he answered, “if they don’t get too fresh. Ha, ha! Cran
worked it, after all, didn’t he? So we’re going to that old farmhouse,
eh? Foxy lad! How’d you do it, Cran?”
Willie’s impish grin increased. Then, suddenly, he burst into a laugh
which ended with one of his peculiar little gasps. His guardian
certainly did not look pleased.
“Rather a surprise, this. Thanks,” added the boy. “Maybe they won’t be
glad to have me along, Mr. Beaumont. Say, Cran, did you ever notice
what funny names some animals have? Duck-billed platypus! What’s a
platypus, anyway, Cran?”
He grinned cheerfully, as an ominous gleam shone in Cranny’s eyes.
Cranny didn’t sleep very much that night, and when he did doze away
it was to imagine himself among the cowboys and out on the plains,
whirling amid all sorts of strange and exciting adventures.
Next morning Willie went to the office with Mr. Beaumont, as usual, but
Cranny lingered at the breakfast table until half-past eight. Then he
hastily jumped to his feet, dashed out into the hall, clapped on his
hat, and in another moment was striding over the graveled path toward
the gate.
“Won’t Bob Somers be surprised?” he chuckled. “My land, but isn’t it
the greatest piece of luck! And perhaps, with all those aeroplane
stunts going on at Border City, we may get a ride in the air.”
At length coming in sight of the National Realty Building, the meeting
place agreed upon, he saw a small group gathered in front of it, and,
regardless of the passing crowd, sent a loud whoop of greeting over the
air, receiving an immediate response.
Neither Bob nor his chums showed any great surprise at the welcome
news; any other outcome would have astonished them greatly, as Cranny
was one of those lads who nearly always manage to have their own way.
“Say, Bob, you chaps will have a big job on your hands,” chuckled
Cranny--“the job o’ makin’ a man out of Willie Sloan.”
Thereupon he gave them a full account of Willie’s early history,
touching not lightly upon his faults, and ending with the observation
that the lad was certainly--“some queer.”
“I noticed that he didn’t join much in the conversation last night,”
grunted tall Tommy Clifton, “and when he did make some remark it was
rude. Looked kind of grouchy to me.”
“In a way, he’s the cheekiest little rooster in all Tacoma,” declared
Cranny. “Your work’s cut out for you, Bob.”
“All right,” laughed Bob. “I’m sure the crowd will do their best. Now,
Cranny, to-morrow morning----”
“Whoop! Makes me feel so great I can hardly help dancing a jig right
here,” cried the big lad. “Come on! I’ll show you the sights of Tacoma.”
And that was the beginning of a strenuous day for the Ramblers.
Tireless Cranny led them from one point to another, until stout Dave
Brandon declared it to be the hardest eight hours of tramping he had
ever put in.
The boys again dined with Mr. Beaumont, and during the evening assisted
Cranny and Willie to pack their belongings. When the former announced
that nothing further remained to be done, they gave a cheer which
caused Willie to stare at them in astonishment.
“Ginger! You chaps have a nerve to startle me like that,” he remarked.
“Wait till you see us at the ranch,” laughed Cranny, as he slipped on
a well-worn cartridge belt. “Gee, fellows, this feels natural. Look,
Bob!”--he held up a large revolver--“the identical chap I had at Circle
T! And there’s my gun in the corner; it’s always been kept in good
condition.”
“Good boy,” said Bob, approvingly. “Our arsenal is at the hotel. Glad
you are going along with us, Willie?” he asked, slapping the lad on the
shoulder.
“Oh, kinder. Only I wish we could ride there in an aeroplane. Bet none
of you chaps would have the nerve to take a flyer.”
“That’s because you don’t know us,” said tall Tom Clifton, stiffly.
“Oh, Mr. Clifton,” jeered Willie, “aren’t----”
“Fellows”--Bob Somers’ clear voice interrupted him--“I have an idea
that before this trip is over we may have some experience with
aeroplanes. Those aviators at Lone Pine will----”
“Let us go up, sure as shootin’,” supplied Cranny, his eyes beginning
to sparkle with interest.
“Which means that I’ll have to write a few hundred pages more,” drawled
Dave, who was sprawling with careless ease on a chair by the window.
“For, of course,” he added, with a chuckle, “we’ll get hold of a
machine somehow, and have it all to ourselves.”
“That’s so!” cried Sam. “Hooray for the----”
“Rambler Club’s aeroplane!” chorused the others, in lusty tones.