"To-be-sure, taint no more'n I expected; gamblin' church members ain't
got no call to kick if their children play cards fer money. What'll
we do, Dick?"
Dick was silent, but unseen by Frank, he motioned toward the door.
[Illustration: "Too bad, too bad, muttered Uncle Bobbie."]
Uncle Bobbie understood. "I reckon yer right," he said, slowly, "tares
an' wheat--tares an' wheat. But what about them notes?"
"I'll fix Whitley," replied Dick.
Frank looked at him in wonder.
"Air you sure you can do it?" asked Uncle Bobbie; "'cause if you
can't--"
"Sure," replied Dick; "I'll write him a line tonight." Then to Frank:
"You can go now, sir, and don't worry about Jim Whitley; he will never
trouble you by collecting the notes."
Frank, stammering some unintelligible reply, rose to his feet.
"Wait a bit young man," said Uncle Bobbie, "I want to tell ye somethin'
before ye go. To-be-sure, I don't think ye'll ever be a very _bad_
citizen, but you've shown pretty clearly that ye can be a mighty mean
one. An' I'm afraid ye'll never be much credit to the church, 'cause
a feller's got to be a _man_ before he can be much of a Christian.
Pieces of men like you don't count much on either side; they just sort
o' fill in. But what ye want to do is to quit tryin' so blamed hard
to be respectable and be _decent_. Now run on home to yer maw and don't
tell nobody where ye've been to-night. Mr. Falkner he will look after
yer friend Whitley."
CHAPTER XXII
The sun was nearly three hours high above the western hilltops in the
mountain district of Arkansas, as a solitary horseman stopped in the
shadow of the timber that fringed the edge of a deep ravine.
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