"That's what I'm here for."
"I want to cable home for money."
"A little poker game on the way down, eh?" He began to shake
ponderously.
"I'm broke, and they won't take a collect message at the cable
office. You see, I didn't know I was coming; some of my friends
gave me a knockout and shipped me off on the Santa Cruz. The
wireless wasn't working, we didn't stop at Jamaica, so this is my
first chance to get word home."
"What do you wish me to do?"
"Cable for me and see that I have a place to stop until I get an
answer."
A look of distrust crept slowly into the consul's little eyes.
"Are you absolutely broke?"
"I haven't got a jingle."
"How long will it take to hear from your people?"
"If my father is at home, I'll hear instantly."
"And if he isn't?"
"I'll have to wait."
"What makes you think he'll wire you money?"
"He's never failed yet. You see, I'm something like a comet; he
knows I'll be around every so often."
Mr. Weeks began to complain. "I don't know you, Mr.--what's the
name again? Anthony? I'm a poor man and I've been an easy mark for
every tropical tramp from Vera Cruz to Guayaquil. Your father may
not be able to help you, and then I'll be holding the bag."
"I think you don't understand who he is.
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