Richardson didn't know a transit from a trombone and he knew no more about cement than a hair-dresser but, provided with a technical hand-book, he sailed, certain that he would be a competent engineer by the time he arrived at Zamboango on the island of Mindanao—in about a week. I saw him off and interestedly awaited word from him as to how matters would turn out.
I had rented a large room in the Imperial Hotel, one of the quaint old adobe Spanish buildings with iron-barred windows and folding doors, in the Intramuros or walled city. I had been living in this room for a few weeks when the proprietor, evidently thinking that it was too large for one person to occupy, placed another man in it without consulting me. As the new arrival appeared a good fellow, and also because I received a reduction in my rental, I made no objection. My new roommate was a man about thirty years of age by the name of Edwards. He had been a second-class yeoman in the United States Navy and, after serving several years, had bought his way out. According to his own statement he had enjoyed the reputation of having been the biggest drunkard in the Asiatic Squadron and in this contention he was upheld by members of the navy who knew him. He now, however, had been on the water wagon for six months and intended to remain there.
It was only a few days after the advent of Edwards that the proprietor, evidently still considering that the room was too large to be wasted on two persons, intruded a third. This man's name was Lakebank, and since (as in the first case) he appeared to be a decent sort of chap and the proprietor again reduced the rental, we concluded to allow him to remain. We all, however, agreed that he was to be the last. Lakebank was a rough, uncouth fellow with one of the finest dispositions in the universe and a heart as big as the ocean. He was chauffeur for one of the high officials of the Insular Government. The three of us got along very well together.
One evening as Edwards and I were eating the eternal chicken dinner of Manila, Lakebank arrived with a most disturbed look in his face. His eyes were nearly popping out of his head. I at once saw that something was wrong and enquired what the trouble was but received only a wink in reply. I took the hint and put the matter off until after dinner. Lakebank, who was very nervous and excited, then informed me that he had seen a man on the street, that afternoon, whom he recognised as his sister's husband and who, nine years ago in the United States, had left her on the night of the birth of their little girl. Later it was discovered that he had gambled away all her savings. He had never been seen or heard from, and was supposed to be dead, until Lakebank came face to face with him on a calle of Manila. Lakebank learned that his brother-in-law was going under the assumed name of Polly.
We discussed the matter for some time and I offered a number of suggestions as to how to handle the situation. The next day, Lakebank, acting on our conclusions, went to the office of Mr. Polly, who had a good position with the Insular Government, and stated that he wished to speak to him alone.
"Go right ahead. Everything my stenographer hears is confidential," said Mr. Polly.
"No, I want her out of the room," insisted Lakebank, "for I have something of a very serious nature to say to you."
"Don't mind her," repeated the man, "I assure you that everything you say will be kept a secret."
"All right then," and looking him squarely in the face Lakebank said, "I am James Lakebank, your brother-in-law. Your name is Ham, not Polly."
"Yes, yes, you are right; no one should be present," muttered Ham nervously and, as he staggered towards the door, he added, "Come with me." The two men left the office and wandered out on the street, both in silence, until they came to a secluded spot in an adjacent lumber yard where, sheltered from view, they sat speechless.