Henry Bennett
Published: 2013
Total Pages: 300
Get eBook
Mason of Bar X Ranch Jack Mason, a young man of twenty-one years, was intently watching a billiard game in progress at a fashionable club in New York City. It was a hot sultry day in June and he was wondering how people could enjoy knocking a bunch of balls around a table and getting all heated up. He had about decided to take a run in his motor when a messenger boy handed him a message. It was from his father bidding him to come at once to his office. His father was president of a bank in New York and independently rich. Mason thrust the message in his pocket, musing as he did so. “I’m in for a call from Dad, he’s probably read about the scrape the bunch and I got into last week.” Calling one of the club members aside he demanded: “Say, Smithy, how did the story of my automobile accident leak out in the papers?” “Don’t know, Jack,” his friend replied; “you know as much about that as I do.” “Thought I had that automobile affair hushed up,” grumbled Mason. “What gets me,” he continued, “is how my part in the club boxing match got in the papers. I just received a message from the old man and expect he has heard all about it.” “This won’t be the first time you have been bawled out by the old man,” replied Smithy with a broad grin. “No, but I expect something serious this time,” declared Mason gravely. “Damn those meddlesome reporters!” he burst out savagely. “You know, Smithy, I have been in worse scrapes before, but always managed to patch them up some way. Now, this story gets in the papers, and that prize fight—well, I suppose the quicker I get this matter settled with Dad, the sooner I will know my fate.” He finished, starting for his car. “Wish you luck, old man,” called Smithy as Mason started his motor, “give my best regards to your father.” This his parting shot, but Mason was out of hearing and speeding to his father’s office in his favorite racing car. Arriving at the bank he went immediately to the private office. His father was busy reading a paper on his desk, and Mason sank indolently into a chair and waited for him to speak. After a period of waiting he got impatient and remarked: “Well, Dad, let’s hear the fireworks.” “Huh,” snorted his father, “you took your time getting here.” “I started for the bank shortly after receiving your message, Dad,” he answered quietly. “What deviltry have you got into now?” the elder man demanded sternly, pointing to a newspaper on his desk. “Here’s an account of you in the paper of going into the ring at your club and fighting six rounds, a choice bit of scandal for the society column. Not being satisfied with that you had to take a party of chorus girls out joy-riding and have a smash-up.”
