"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And now tell me about business. How is everything?"
I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, and so on. He listened and was pleased, but I could see there was somethin' else on his mind.
"There's just one thing more," he said, soon's he got the chance. "I knew the store must be O. K.; your letters told me that. But—er—but—" tryin' hard to be casual and not too interested, "how is Frank doin' with his restaurant? How's the 'Sign of the Windmill' gettin' on?"
Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I've told it here. He listened, breakin' out with exclamations and such every little while. When I got to where the Washburn man told who Frank and the stewardess was, he couldn't hold in any longer.
"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she was his wife!"
"So it seems," says I. "And that ain't all of it, neither. You remember the doctor said he'd drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. Well, that account didn't amount to much; he'd used it about all, anyway. But there was another account in his wife's name at the Sandwich bank, and that was fairly good size."
"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited.
"No, we didn't. 'Twas in her name and we wouldn't have touched it, if we'd wanted to; but we didn't get the chance. She drew it all the very next mornin' and the pair of 'em cleared out. I judge they'd planned to skip in a few days anyhow, and our creditors' raid only hurried things up a little mite. The whole thing was a skin game—Frank and his precious wife had seen ruination comin' on and they'd laid plans to feather their own nest and let the rest of us whistle. We ain't seen 'em from that day to this."
He was shakin' all over. "You ain't?" he shouted, jumpin' from the chair. "You ain't? Why not? What did you let 'em get away for? Why didn't you set the police after 'em? What sort of managin' do you call that? I—I—"
"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. "Hush, Jim! you ain't heard the whole of it yet. Our bill—"