“Just this: Lola told me that Paul Mitchell the third has a son just about your age.”
“Well, what’s that got to do with me?”
“Nothing, only that he’s a Boy Scout!”
CHAPTER XLII—SETTING OUT TO DO IT
They had left Lamy and were climbing steadily upward. Westy was looking out of the train window at the uninhabited miles of land, relieved by the juniper, piñon and scrub dotting the landscape.
“Here’s hoping the city of Santa Fe is one of promise,” Mr. Wilde remarked. “I haven’t really thought out any special line of attack as yet.”
“Well, I think you can leave that part to me,” Westy said with a tone of finality. “I’ve planned it all out.”
“I’m glad to hear it. What is your first step? That’s all you need tell me.”
“To ask the clerk at the hotel where the Mitchells live and how to get there.”
“That sounds good. No beating around the bush for you, eh? Go straight for the mark—that’s good sense. I’ll give you time enough. We have to beat it in a week or so. You ought to find out what’s what in that space of time, eh?”