“It is a marvellous mix-up, which Ricardo can doubtless explain, Miss Ruey. I know he believes his sister perished with her father; Mother Jenks didn't know where he was and couldn't communicate with him—and there you are. However, little old Jack Fix-it will bring you together again in due course. In the interim, how about those eggs? Straight up—or flip 'em?”
She beamed across at him. “We are going to be such good, true friends, aren't we?” she urged. He almost shivered, but managed a hypocritical nod. “While we have only known each other twenty-four hours, it seems a great deal longer than that—probably because Billy has told me so much about you, and you're—so comfortable and easy to get acquainted with, and I—I can't very well express my gratitude for what you've done—for what you're going to do.” Her voice faltered; she smiled roguishly through the tears of her emotion. “If I were only Billy, now, I could put my arm across your shoulders and settle the matter by saying: 'Johnny, you old horsethief, you're all right.'”
“The best thing to do would be to cease puffing me up with importance. And now, before we climb out of the realm of romance and the improbable to the more substantial plane of things for breakfast, just one brief word of caution. Now that I have told you your brother lives and is in Buenaventura, forget it until I mention it again, because his presence here is his secret, not ours.”
“All right, Caliph,” she agreed. “I think I shall call you that hereafter. Like the late Caliph Haroun A! Raschid, it appears you have a habit of prowling around o' nights in queer places, doing good deeds for your subjects. But tell me about my brother. Describe him to me.”
“Not now. Here comes the head waiter with a cablegram for me, I think.”
That functionary came to their table and handed one of the familiar yellow envelopes to each of them.
“We'll excuse each other,” Dolores suggested. She read:
Go you if I lose. I like you fine.
You are a good, game little scout, and Jerome.
She glanced across at Webster, whose face was a conflicting study of emotions in which disappointment and amazement appeared to predominate. “You ancient scoundrel,” she heard him murmur.