Poppy’s face was curious.
“Why do you put it that way?” says he guardedly. “Do you want us to work with you?”
“No!” the kid shoved in.
“Shet up, you!”
“Aw, heck! Throw the big simp out.”
But Poppy only grinned.
“Did you ever hear of a man by the name of Nathan Weir?” he then inquired, thinking, I guess, that here was a good chance to find out something about Mr. Weckler’s missing daughter.
The old man seemed suddenly saddened by the question.
“Nathan an’ me was brothers,” says he in a lower voice. “Tommy is his son.”
“What?” cried Poppy, staring. Then he shot a glance at me.