Did you ever hear of
Darwin K. Anthony, of Albany, New York?"
Mr. Weeks's thick lids opened, this time to display a far
different emotion. "Certainly."
"Well, he's the goat."
Slowly, grandly, the American consul set his frame in motion,
whereat Kirk said, quickly, "Don't get up; I understand." But Mr.
Weeks had gone too far to check himself, so he lurched resiliently
into an upright position, then across the floor, and, reaching out
past his undulating front, as a man reaches forth from the midst
of a crowd, shook his guest heartily by the hand.
"Why didn't you say so?" he bubbled. "I'm here to accommodate
folks like you. Darwin K. Anthony! Well, RATHER."
"Thanks." The young man wiped his hand surreptitiously. "If you
will fix it so I can cable him and sleep aboard the ship, I'll be
greatly obliged."
"Nothing of the sort," Mr. Weeks blew through his wet lips. "I'll
cable him myself and you'll stay right here as my guest. Delighted
to have the privilege."
Kirk cast another glance over the place, and demurred hastily.
"Really, I couldn't think of putting you out. I can stay on the
Santa Cruz as well as not."
"I couldn't hear to such a thing. You're tired of ship life--
everybody is--and I have lots of room--too much room.
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