THE MOTOR WIZARD'S JUDGMENT.
"This has a fishy look to me, Hiram," said Clancy, after reading the letter. "Upton Hill, who claims to have written it, says he got your address from the policeman who pulled you out of the màlée and helped you to the drug store. Mighty queer he couldn't spend time to call on you, after getting your address, instead of putting you to all the expense of going to San Diego to find him."
"Don't be a wet blanket, blame it!" begged Hill. "Only dad I got in the world, and here you go to throwin' cold water on his motives."
"Did you give your address to the policeman?"
"Give it up. I was plump batty, just after I got away from that mob, and I don't know what I did. Reckon I must have given up the information, or dad couldn't have got it and sent me that letter."
The motor wizard was conscious of a deep distrust regarding that communication upon which Hill was setting such store. Instinctively he had become suspicious, and the more he considered the letter's contents, the more suspicious he became.
"Do you recognize your father's handwriting, Hiram?" asked Clancy.
"Well, hardly," was the grinning response. "Dad got lost in the shuffle almost before I'd cut my teeth. I'm not familiar with his handwritin'. Did you read what he says about bein' well off? Gosh! Say, I'm li'ble to come into some money! I reckon this is one time my cup's right side up when it rains good luck."
"Haven't you got a sample of your father's penmanship anywhere, Hiram?"
"Not that I know anythin' about. You see, all the letters he'd written I left back home, and—" Hill paused abruptly. "Gee," he went on, reaching into the breast pocket of his coat, "I allow I have got a scrap o' dad's writin'. It's on the back o' that photograft."