Part 23 (1/2)
”What? Not getting homesick already, I hope?” smiled his chum.
”Certainly not, only a fellow naturally likes to hear from his mom and dad when he's away so far,” declared Bluff stoutly.
”Yes, and also from some other fellow's sister, in the bargain. Nellie never finds time to write to me when I'm away, leaving all that to the old folks; but I notice that you always manage to get a letter in her handwriting.”
”Well, I made her solemnly promise to write every other day, you see,”
explained Bluff, while he suddenly became red in the face, hurrying off to get his mail.
There were letters for all the boys. Jerry was called in from his entrancing sport to receive his share, and Frank noticed that he, too, had a sweet-looking missive in a schoolgirl hand. Of course, it must be from Mame Crosby, for Jerry and she were great friends.
”Here's something enclosed in my letter, and directed to Mr. Frank Langdon. Does anybody know a fellow by that name?” asked Will, holding up a delicate envelope that seemed to exhale a fragrance all its own.
”And sealed, too! What a breach of etiquette!” jeered Jerry.
”Now, _will_ you be good?” observed Bluff, glad of a chance to return the favor.
”That's all right. Possibly Violet wants to make some inquiries concerning her twin brother, how he behaves, and if he has developed any rash spirit calculated to get him into trouble. I remember telling her that if she felt anxious just to drop me a line, and I'd answer.”
Frank unblus.h.i.+ngly took the envelope from the extended fingers of Will.
”Open it!” commanded Bluff.
”You'll have to excuse me, fellows. That wouldn't be hardly fair to my correspondent, you know. She expects me to keep her secrets.” And Frank coolly sauntered off as he spoke.
Nor did he ever take them into his confidence with regard to what the contents of that scented missive might be. Even Will was not told.
However, like most brothers, it can be said that he did not seem overly anxious to learn. He had, perhaps, secrets of his own.
Once again they were seated around the campfire. Supper had been, as usual, a great success, and while the older members of the party smoked, our boys amused themselves in various ways.
Will was, of course, busy with his photographic outfit. His field dark-room was a success, and he developed his films, and did all other things necessary, with little or no trouble. Indeed, he had an apparatus whereby he could carry on this operation successfully even in the daytime; but he usually worked at night, because there was nothing else going on then.
The others had fallen into a conversation connected with their home life. Reddy hovered near, listening, and Frank wondered why that wistful look had come into the eyes of the young cowboy. Possibly he had a home somewhere--perhaps memories of a mother or father had crowded into his mind while the boys were talking of the sacred ties that bound them to Centerville.
Frank had always believed there must be something of a history attached to Reddy's past. He had even hoped that some time the other might take such a liking to him as to speak of his own folks. His manner gave Frank the impression that the das.h.i.+ng cowboy might have had a new longing spring up in his breast since their coming to the ranch, a desire to once again visit the scenes of his boyhood.
So, as they talked, referring to many of the events of the past, names were often mentioned, and as a thought came to him, Frank happened to say:
”I wonder how Hank Brady is getting on with father's new car?”
He saw the cowboy start and turn white.
”Who's Hank Brady?” he asked, his voice trembling.
”A fellow we met under strange circ.u.mstances. Hank was on the road to the bad, but he got his eyes open just in time. Now he's our chauffeur, and we think he's going to make good,” replied Frank, watching the other with sudden interest.
”Huh! Did you ever hear anything about his family?” asked Reddy, trying to act in a natural manner, but hardly succeeding very well.
”Yes. He's got a father and mother who were mighty anxious about him.”