Ben Blair Part 9

"Under the circ.u.mstances," he repeated, "I'd let him go; for several reasons. First of all, he's got such a start of you now that you couldn't catch him, anyway. Then he's a coward by nature, and it'll be a mighty long time before he ever shows up here again. And last of all,"

the speaker hesitated, "last of all," he repeated slowly, "though I don't know, I believe you were right when you said the boy could tell more about it than the rest of us; and if what we suspect is true, I think by the time he comes back, if he ever does come, Ben will be old enough to take care of him." Again the speaker paused, and his great jowl settled down into his s.h.i.+rt-front. "If he doesn't, I can't read signs when I see 'em."

For a moment the room was silent; then Scotty sprang to his feet as if a load had been taken off his mind.

"All right," said he, "we'll forget it. And, speaking of forgetting, I've nearly got myself into trouble already. I have an invitation from Mrs. Baker for you to take dinner with us to-day. In fact, I was sent on purpose to bring you. Not a word, not a word!" he continued, at sight of objections gathering on the other's face; "a lady's invitations are sacred, you know. Get your coat!"

Rankin arose with an effort and stood facing his visitor.

"You know I'm always glad to visit you, Baker," he said. "I wasn't thinking of holding off on my own account, but I've got someone else to consider now, you know. Ben--"

"Certainly, certainly!" Scotty's voice was eloquent of comprehension.

"Throw the kiddie in too. He can play with Flossie; they're about of an age, and she'll be tickled to death to have him."

Rankin looked at his friend a moment peculiarly. "I know Ben's going would be all right with you, Baker," he explained at last, "but how about your wife? Considering--everything--she might object."

The smile left the Englishman's face, and a look of perplexity took its place.

"By Jove!" he said, "you're right! I never thought of that." He s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other uneasily. "But, pshaw! What's the use of saying anything whatever about the boy's connections? He's nothing but a youngster,--and, besides, his mother's actions are no fault of his."

Rankin took his top-coat off its peg deliberately.

"All right," he said. "I'll call Ben." At the door he paused, looking back, the peculiar expression again upon his face. "As you say, the faults of Ben's mother are not his faults, anyway."

CHAPTER VI

THE SOIL AND THE SEED

Within the Baker home three persons, a woman and two men, were sitting beside a well-discussed table in the perfect content that follows a good meal. Strange to say, in this frontier land, the men had cigars, and their smoke curled slowly toward the ceiling. Intermittently, with the unconscious att.i.tude of indifference we bestow upon happenings remote from our lives, they were discussing the month-old news of the world, which the messenger from town, who supplied at stated intervals the family wants, had brought the day before.

Out of doors, in the warm sunny plat south of the barn, a small boy and a still smaller girl were engaged in the fascinating occupation of becoming acquainted. The little girl was decidedly taking the initiative.

"How's it come your name is Blair?" she asked, opening fire as soon as they were alone.

The boy pondered the question. It had never occurred to him before. Why should he be called Blair? No adequate reason suggested itself.

"I don't know," he admitted.

The little girl wrinkled her forehead in thought.

"It's funny, isn't it?" she said. "Now, my papa's name is Baker, and my name's Florence Baker. You ought to be Ben Rankin--but you aren't." She stroked a diminutive nose with a fairy forefinger. "It's funny," she repeated.

"Oh!" commented Benjamin. He understood now, but explanations were not a part of his philosophy. "Oh!" and the subject dropped.

"Let's play duck on the rock," suggested Florence.

The boy's hands were deep in the recesses of his pockets.

"I don't know how."

"That's nothing." The small brunette had the air of one to whom difficulties were unknown. "I'll show you. Papa and I play, and it's lots of fun--only he beats me." She looked about for available material.

"You get that little box up by the house," she directed, "and we'll have that for the rock."

Ben did as ordered.

"Now bring two tin cans. You'll find a pile back of the barn."

Once more the boy departed, to return a moment later with a pair of "selects," each bearing in gaudy illumination a composite picture of the ingredients of succotash.

"Now watch me," said Florence.

She carried the box about a rod away and planted it firmly on the ground. "This is the rock," she explained. On the top of the box she perched one of the cans, open end up. "And this is the duck--my duck. Do you see?"

The boy had watched the proceedings carefully. "Yes, I see," he said.

Florence came back to the barn. "Now the game is for you to take this other can and knock my duck off. Then we both run, and if you get your can on the box ahead of me, I'm _it_, and I'll have to knock off your duck. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"All right." And the sport was on.

Ben poised his missile and carefully let fly.

"He, he!" t.i.ttered Florence. "You missed!"

He retrieved his duck without comment.

"Try again; you've got three chances."

More carefully than before Ben took aim and tossed his can.

"Missed again!" exulted the little brunette. "You've only one more try."

And the brown eyes flashed with mischief.

For the last time Ben stood at position.

"Be careful! you're out if you miss."

Even more slowly than before the boy took aim, swung his arm overhead clear from the shoulder, and threw with all his might. There was a flash of gaudy paper through the air, a resounding impact of tin against wood, and the make-believe duck skipped away as though fearful of danger.

For a moment Florence stood aghast, but only for a moment; then she stamped a tiny foot imperiously.

"Oh, you naughty boy!" she exclaimed. "You naughty, naughty boy!"

Once more Ben's hands were in his pockets. "Why?" he asked innocently.