“You haven’t heard?” demanded the other, suspiciously.
“Haven’t heard what?” asked Alex.
The other looked out to the foothills and back to the levee, which concealed the river from view. Then he searched his pocket for another pancake, failed to find it, and rolled along on the sand.
“Haven’t heard what?” asked Alex, determined to know what the other was driving at. “What haven’t I heard? What you mean by that?”
“What’s your name?” the stranger asked, abruptly.
“Alex Smithwick,” was the quick reply.
“I’ve heard of you,” the other went on. “Some Chicago newspaper printed a picture of the Rambler and you three boys. That’s how I found the nerve to visit you last night. I’m from Chicago. I was looking for you!”
“Tell me what it is I haven’t heard,” Alex insisted, “and tell me your name! I’ve told you mine.”
“I’m Don Durand,” was the quick reply. “I guess that will tell all there is to tell. Guess you’ve heard that name before!”
“You ain’t ever been president of the United States, or lightweight champion, or the jockey that won the derby, or anything like that, have you?” Alex asked, whimsically. “If you have, I’ve overlooked a big one, for I never heard that name until just now! Unravel your crime, me son!” he added, with a grin which brought out all the freckles in his friendly face.