“But surely you're not a tropical tramp, Mr. Geary?”
“I was, but Jack Webster reformed me,” Billy answered quizzically. “You know—power of wealth and all that.”
“I remember you inquired for your friend Mr. Webster when you came aboard the steamer.”
“I remember it, too,” Billy countered ruefully. “I can't imagine what's become of him. I suppose I'll have a cable from him any day, though, telling me he'll be along on the next steamer. Miss Ruey, did you ever go to meet the only human being in the world and discover that for some mysterious reason he had failed to keep the appointment? If you ever have, you'll know just how cheerful I felt when I didn't find Jack's name on the passenger list. Miss Ruey, you'll have to meet old John Stuart the minute he lights in Buenaventura. He's some boy.”
“Old John Stuart?” she queried. “How old?”
“Oh, thirty-nine or forty on actual count, but one of the kind that will live to be a thousand and then have to be killed with an axe. He's coming to Sobrante to help me put over a mining deal.”
“How interesting, Mr. Geary! No wonder you were disappointed.”
The last sentence was a shaft deliberately launched; to Dolores's delight it made a keyhole in Billy Geary's heart.
“Don't get me wrong, Miss Ruey,” he hastened to assure her. “I have a good mine, but I'd trade it for a hand-shake from Jack! The good Lord only published one edition of Jack, and limited the edition to one volume; then the plates were melted for the junk we call the human race.”
“Oh, do tell me all about him,” Dolores pleaded. Billy, always interested in his favourite topic, beamed with boyish pleasure. “No,” he said, “I'll not tell you about him, Miss Ruey. I'll just let him speak for himself. We used to be as close to each other as peas in a pod, back in Colorado, and then I made a monkey of myself and shook old Jack without even saying good-bye. Miss Ruey, my action didn't even dent his friendship for me. Two weeks ago, when I was sick and penniless and despairing, the possessor of a concession on a fortune but without a centavo in my pockets to buy a banana, when I was a veritable beach-comber and existing on the charity of Mother Jenks, I managed finally to communicate with old Jack and told him where I was and what I had. There's his answer, Miss Ruey, and I'm not ashamed to say that when I got it I cried like a kid.” And Billy handed her John Stuart Webster's remarkable cablegram, the receipt of which had, for Billy Geary, transformed night into day, purgatory into paradise. Dolores read it.