"
"I'm rich, anyhow, or I will be. Money doesn't mean much to me."
"Your father is--many times a millionaire, isn't he?" Weeks'
little red eyes were very bright and curious. Kirk had seen that
look many times before and knew its meaning. Hence he replied
rather brusquely:
"So I believe." And a moment later declared his determination to
avail himself of the good weather and see something of the town.
The prospect of squaring his account with this fawning fat man
filled him with relief, and once away from the Consulate he stayed
until late in the afternoon. It was nearly dark when he strolled
in, to inquire:
"Well, did you get an answer?"
"Yes." Weeks fumbled excitedly through the papers on his desk.
"How much did he send?
"Here's the message; read it yourself."
Kirk read as follows:
WEEKS, Consul, Colon.
Your guest an impostor. Have no son.
ANTHONY.
"Well, I'll be damned!" he ejaculated. "This is a joke!"
Weeks was beginning to pant. "A joke, hey? I suppose it was a joke
to impose on me?"
"Don't you believe I'm Kirk Anthony?"
"No, I do not. I just discovered to-day that your name is
Jefferson Locke. Stein told me."
Anthony laughed lightly.
"Oh, laugh, if you want to. You're a smooth article with your talk
about football and automobiles and millionaire fathers, but you
happened to select the wrong millionaire for a father this time,
and I'm going to give you a taste of our Spiggoty jails.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113