“You won’t have to tip them,” answered Professor Strong, dryly. “I will attend to that when I settle our bills.”
“Oh, I don’t mind tipping them,” answered the lank youth, hastily. “I always give the waiters something at home.”
After lunch the whole party took it easy in the court by the fountain, where there were numerous easy chairs and hammocks. Mark and Frank fell asleep, and soon after Darry and Sam followed. But Hockley was restless and at last got up to walk around.
He had just entered the office of the hotel when the clerk came toward him holding up an envelope.
“A message for Mistair Jacob Hockley,” he said.
“That’s my name,” returned Hockley, and took the message wondering whom it was from and what it contained.
It was a cablegram, sent from Curaçao, and was signed “Daniel Markel.” It read as follows:
“Unexpectedly delayed. Coming to-morrow. Meet me at Hotel Ziroda.”
“So he was delayed and is coming to-morrow,” muttered Hockley, as he gazed at the cablegram. “Hullo, it’s dated yesterday. In that case he’ll be at the Hotel Ziroda to-day. I’d like to know what he has to say for himself.”
Stuffing the message in his pocket he went up to the clerk and asked that individual where the Hotel Ziroda was located. Receiving the information he started to go back to where he had left the professor, then suddenly changed his mind.