The Rambler Club's Aeroplane
9781465682918
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“I tell you, Cranny, it’s simply impossible to do anything with that boy; he hasn’t a bit of energy. Whenever my back is turned, he’s idling away his time. I do wish to goodness I could wash my hands of him.” Mr. Bolton Beaumont, real estate agent of Tacoma, Washington, paced the floor of the office, his round, good-natured face wearing a most gloomy and disturbed expression. Mr. Beaumont was a large man—large in all dimensions—height, breadth and rotundity. The light, too, which, in spite of his present displeasure, shone from a pair of keen gray eyes, indicated a kindly, sympathetic disposition. Cranston Beaumont, generally known as Cranny, bore but little resemblance to his father. Cranny was long of limb, wide of shoulder, his loose frame suggesting great strength and agility. The lurking smile at the corners of a generous mouth appeared to be somewhat offset by the aggressive appearance of a prominent chin; but, altogether, Cranny was a wholesome, clean-cut chap, full of life, and brimming over with courage. Cranny’s expression gave no indication that his father’s words struck a responsive chord; instead, he seemed to be in the happiest frame of mind, his eyes occasionally turning toward a letter which lay open on a desk before him. “I believe that Willie is positively hopeless,” went on Mr. Beaumont, in a louder tone. “But it doesn’t appear to bother you in the least. Whom is that letter from? It seems to interest you hugely.” Cranny sank against the back of his chair and began to whistle softly, while the joyful look on his face deepened. Mr. Beaumont’s thoughts, however, were too full of another subject to pursue his inquiries further. “I often wonder if that boy has a spark of ambition in his whole make-up,” he continued. “He’s careless to an exasperating degree. Cranny, have you noticed my desk?” His son rose to his feet and walked across to the opposite side of the office, where he stopped to gaze at several long irregular black smears on the otherwise clean top of Mr. Beaumont’s desk.
