"
"What is it?"
"Will you introduce me to the best hotel in town? I have friends
in Panama City, but they're out and it's getting late."
"There isn't a good hotel here, but you don't need an
introduction; just walk in. They're not full."
"I'm broke, and I have no baggage."
"Don't you know anybody?"
"I know the American consul--been stopping at his house for a
week--but he threw me out."
A great light seemed suddenly to dawn upon the agent. "Oh, you're
Locke!" said he, with the air of one who detects a fraud too
obvious to be taken seriously. "Now I understand. The purser on
the Santa Cruz told me about you. Sorry I can't help you, but I'm
a salaried man."
"I've got to sleep," stoutly maintained the other. "Somebody will
have to take care of me; I can't sit up all night."
"See here, my friend, I don't know what your game is, but you
can't sting me." The agent finished locking up, then walked away,
leaving his visitor to reflect anew upon the average human being's
ignoble lack of faith in his fellows.
It was growing dark. From farther down the water-front the lights
of the Wayfarers Club shone invitingly, and Kirk decided to appeal
there for assistance. In spite of Weeks's warning, he felt sure he
could prevail upon some of the members to tide him over for the
night, but as he neared the place he underwent a sudden change of
heart.
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