His completion of an elaborate account of his patronage of Adolphus Maroney called forth from Mr. Betts the remark:
“I don’t see, colonel, how he can get on at all without you. Once you got from under him, it’s a miracle he didn’t entirely collapse.”
“No, not quite that,” the colonel modestly deprecated. “Maroney was no fool—no fool; only speculative and lacking in foresight. When I got him on his feet he was able to go his way alone.”
“Well, that was smart of him, wasn’t it?” commented Charley Ryan, with a sagacious wag of his head.
There was something in the tone of his remark that disturbed the colonel’s complacency. For a moment he eyed Charley with a side glance, then he said:
“I’m always willing to admit that Maroney was no fool.”
“Now, how do we know,” said Miss Mercer, letting her eyes give a preliminary sweep over the faces about her, “that you’re not still doing all the work and making all the money for those San Francisco millionaires? You know, I believe that’s just what you’re up to, and you’re too sly to tell.”
She looked at him with an air of bright challenge. The colonel was pleased.
“No, my dear young lady,” he answered; “that was in the past, when I was one of them myself.”
“Are you sure you are not one of them still?” said Charley Ryan. “Come, now, colonel; make a clean breast of it. Here’s the family album; can you swear upon this book that you haven’t got a few loose millions lying round in tea-pots and stockings up in your room?”