“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.…
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