“Not at all,” said Jones. “Why—why? You tell me why, why, first, and see how well it fits in with who, who. I know the answer all right but I haven’t heard the riddle yet.”
“Oi, yoi, yoi!” Young Drake sat up with a sudden alertness and stared hard at his visitor. “It’s Uncle Ducky’s money—that’s why—I’ll bet a cooky!”
“Not with me, you won’t,” said Neighbor; “for if your Uncle Ducky left any worldly goods the gentleman that offers a bounty for you is the very man to covet those goods. Just how getting you killed would bring him in anything I don’t almost see.”
“That’s just it!” cried Roger Drake. “He’s got the money now—or somebody has; I haven’t. I’m trying to find it.”
“Son,” said Neighbor judicially, “this sounds real thrillin’. Tell it to me.”
Young Drake hesitated.
“No offense, Mr. Jones; but I have been strongly advised to say nothing.”
Neighbor nodded eagerly.
“Yes, yes! Mystery; sorcery; silence; wisdom! ‘But how do you know I’m honest?’ says the lad in the story. ‘Why,’ says the other chap, ‘didn’t you just tell me so?’ Well, I’m honest. Go on! Also curious. That’s why I want to be told; but here is why you should want to tell me: If we were back in New York town you’d understand the ins and outs of things that I couldn’t make a guess at, and that it would take you large, dreary centuries to tell me about. Ever think of that?”
“I gotcha!” said Roger joyously. “And this is your country, you mean; while I’m a mere stranger——”