"What did you call him?" inquired Bert.
"Call who?"
"Him--Bennie--what was that full name?"
"Bennington."
"Great Scott! and here I've been thinking all the time he was plain
Benjamin! Tell us about it, my boy. What is it? It sounds like a battle
of the Revolution. Is it a battle of the Revolution? Just to think
that all this time we have been entertaining unawares a real live
battle!"
De Laney grinned, half-embarrassed as usual.
"It's a family name," said he. "It's the name of an ancestor."
He never knew whether or not these vivacious youths really desired the
varied information they demanded.
The Leslies looked upon him with awe.
"You don't mean to tell me," said Bertie, "that you are a Bennington!
Well, well! This is a small world! We will celebrate the discovery." He
walked to the door and touched a bell five times. "Beautiful system,"
he explained. "In a moment Karl will appear with five beers. This
arrangement is possible because never, in any circumstances, do we ring
for anything but beer."
The beer came. Two steins, two glasses, and a carefully scrubbed
shaving mug were pressed into service. After the excitement of finding
all these things had died, and the five men were grouped about the
place in ungraceful but comfortable attitudes, Bennington bid for the
sympathy he had sought in this visit.
"Fellows," said he, "I've something to tell you."
"Let her flicker," said Jim.
"I'm going away next week. It's all settled."
"Bar Harbour, Trouville, Paris, or Berlin?"
"None of them. I'm going West."
"Santa Barbara, Los Angeles, San Diego, or Monterey?"
"None of them. I'm going to the real West. I'm going to a mining camp."
The Leslies straightened their backbones.
"Don't spring things on us that way," reproved Bertie severely; "you'll
give us heart disease. Now repeat softly."
"I am going to a mining camp," obeyed Bennington, a little
shamefacedly.
"With whom?"
"Alone."
This time the Leslies sprang quite to their feet.
"By the Great Horn Spoon, man!" cried Jim. "Alone! No chaperon! Good
Lord!"
"Yes," said Bennington, "I've always wanted to go West. I want to
write, and I'm sure, in that great, free country, I'll get a chance for
development. I had to work hard to induce father and mother to consent,
but it's done now, and I leave next week. Father procured me a position
out there in one of the camps. I'm to be local treasurer, or something
like that; I'm not quite sure, you see, for I haven't talked with
Bishop yet. I go to his office for directions to-morrow."
At the mention of Bishop the Leslies glanced at each other behind the
young man's back.
"Bishop?" repeated Jim. "Where's your job located?"
"In the Black Hills of South Dakota, somewhere near a little place
called Spanish Gulch."