“Your father does.”
“Well?”
“I shall go there to see him.”
Scott Clemmons started, and asked quickly:
“And why?”
“Because I can get no satisfaction from you.”
“What do you wish from my father?”
“What I desire is from his son. I am poor, very poor, and in distress, as I wrote you, and which letter, with several others, you did not favor with a response. But I know you got the last, for I sent it to your town in Maine to be registered, and I got the return card with your name on it as having received it. You thought it was a money package from home, and found it was a letter from your old chum whom you have treated so badly. I told you that my parents had refused to receive me at first, but relented, and I was given a chance; but I lost heavily in gambling one night, so got money to pay the debt by using my father’s name, which is the same as my own, you know, only I forgot to mention on the check that I was my paternal’s junior, you know, and this little discrepancy got me fired out of the home circle. Luck is against me now, I’m down at the heels, and must have money, so I came to my rich friend and bygone chum, Scott Clemmons. I’ll be at the Astor House at eight o’clock, and if you are not there I’ll be there again at the same hour in the morning. Then if I miss you I’ll start for Maine, and have a talk with Clemmons, senior—ta-ta, Scotty—tra la-la, dear boy,” and Barney Breslin made a mock salute and turned toward the gangway.