“That’s me,” nodded the other.
For a single moment Sparkfair had seemed staggered. He recovered quickly, and assumed his usual air of nonchalance.
“Aren’t you lost, strayed, or stolen, Hanksy?” he inquired.
“Oh, I guess not,” was the answer, with a touch of insolence in both manner and tone; “but I was afraid you might become lost if I didn’t take pains to look you up.”
“It was distressingly kind of you, Hanksy.”
“Cut out the Hanksy. You can’t afford to be too flip with me just now.”
“I can’t afford much of anything since the squeezing you gave me,” confessed Spark. “My dear fellow, you’re certainly destined to become a millionaire, or a stone breaker in an institution for people who are too eager to acquire sudden wealth.”
“None of that,” advised Hanks. “It doesn’t sound well from a chap who was caught in a piece of gumshoe work that would have done credit to a second-story man. You can’t throw any stones, Mr. Dale Sparkfair. If you do, you’re liable to get a few of your own windows broken. I don’t wonder that you ducked out of Cambridge in a hurry, but you made a mistake in thinking you could get away without settling with yours truly, Jimmy Hanks.”
“Didn’t you see Hunnewell after I left?”
Hanks permitted his red lips to curve contemptuously.