"Why, what a queer story!" declared Mrs. Ford. "It sounds like some novel."
"I don't believe it's true, Mr. Porter!" cried Della Ford. "I believe he is a faker! At first I thought he was quite nice, but I soon discovered otherwise. He is addicted to gambling, and when he gets the fever he gambles away the very clothing on his back."
"Then that is why you broke with him?"
"That was one reason. But as I said before, I know more about Mr. Porton than he imagined. One day we had been out walking, and after he left me I picked up a letter which must have dropped from his pocket when he pulled out his cigarette case. As the letter had no envelope, I did not know whose it was, and read it. It was evidently written by a very angry man. The writer, who signed himself Obadiah Jones, said that he was sick and tired of putting up for Ward; that Ward could no longer expect any assistance from him; that he cast the young man off, and never wanted to hear from him again."
"And you say that letter was signed by a man named Obadiah Jones?" asked Dave, eagerly.
"Yes. Rather an old-fashioned name; isn't it?"
"Did the man give his address?"
"No, there was no address of any kind on the letter," answered Della Ford.
"Was this Obadiah Jones the man he said was his uncle?" continued our hero.
"I don't know about that," answered the girl.