"It's very funny," remarked Betty. "Both you and Jack announced when you settled down after the war, Hugh, that nothing could ever root you up again. All you wanted, you said, was a good job and plenty of hard work."
"I know it," admitted Hugh. "I remember Nash, here, and Nikka Zaranko—"
"You mean the famous Gypsy violinist?" interrupted my uncle, who, I ought to say, uses the millions he receives from his oil-holdings to patronize the arts and sciences.
"Yes, sir. He was in the Foreign Legion durin' the war. We all met in the last big push in Flanders. I went in with my battalion to help out Jack's crowd, and was snowed under with them. Then Nikka tried to extricate both outfits, and the upshot was the Aussies finally turned the trick. Some show!
"Well, we three became pals. What I was going to say was that the last time we got together before demobilization we agreed we never wanted to feel the threat of danger again. We wanted to become rich and prosperous and fat and contented. That was why I came over to New York with Jack, instead of staying home and fighting with my uncle."
"That reminds me," I said, extending the pink envelope. "Here's a cable for you. Maybe—"
"If it's from Uncle James I shall be surprised," replied Hugh, ripping open the envelope. "A line once in six months is his idea of avuncular correspondence. Hullo!"
He pursed his lips in a prolonged whistle.
"Anything wrong?" asked Betty anxiously.
"No—well—humph! It's hard to say. Listen to this: 'Sailing Aquitania to-day due New York eighteenth must see you immediately have made important discovery your aid essential family fortunes involved this confidential."