"Yeah. But what are we going to call him?" Methodical Cash wanted the
whole matter settled at one conference, it seemed.
"Call him? Why, what've we been calling him, the last two months?"
"That," Cash retorted, "depended on what devilment he was into when we
called!"
"You said it all, that time. I guess, come to think of it--tell you
what, Cash, let's call him what the kid calls himself. That's fair
enough. He's got some say in the matter, and if he's satisfied with
Lovin, we oughta be. Lovin Markam Moore ain't half bad. Then if he wants
to change it when he grows up, he can."
"Yeah. I guess that's as good as anything. I'd hate to see him named
Cassius. Well, now's as good a time as any to make them wills, Bud. We
oughta have a couple of witnesses, but we can act for each other, and I
guess it'll pass. You lay the kid down, and we'll write 'em and have
it done with and off our minds. I dunno--I've got a couple of lots in
Phoenix I'll leave to the girl. By rights she should have 'em. Lovins,
here, 'll have my share in all mining claims; these two I'll name
'specially, because I expect them to develop into paying mines; the
Blind Lodge, anyway."
A twinge of jealousy seized Bud. Cash was going ahead a little too
confidently in his plans for the kid. He did not want to hurt old Cash's
feelings, and of course he needed Cash's assistance if he kept Lovin
Child for his own. But Cash needn't think he was going to claim the kid
himself.
"All right--put it that way. Only, when you're writing it down, you make
it read 'child of Bud Moore' or something like that. You can will him
the moon, if you want, and you can have your name sandwiched in between
his and mine. But get this, and get it right. He's mine, and if we ever
split up, the kid goes with me. I'll tell the world right now that this
kid belongs to me, and where I go he goes. You got that?"
"You don't have to beller at the top of your voice, do yuh?" snapped
Cash, prying the cork out of the ink bottle with his jackknife. "Here's
another pen point. Tie it onto a stick or something and git to work
before you git to putting it off."
Leaning over the table facing each other, they wrote steadily for a few
minutes. Then Bud began to flag, and finally he stopped and crumpled the
sheet of tablet paper into a ball. Cash looked up, lifted his eyebrows
irritatedly, and went on with his composition.
Bud sat nibbling the end of his makeshift penholder. The obstacle that
had loomed in Cash's way and had constrained him to reveal the closed
pages of his life, loomed large in Bud's way also. Lovin Child was a
near and a very dear factor in his life--but when it came to sitting
down calmly and setting his affairs in order for those who might be left
behind, Lovin Child was not the only person he must think of. What of
his own man-child? What of Marie?