“We certainly do, Whoa. See what you can do with him. Wouldn’t some tutoring help? There’s a chap named Merriman in town who’s a regular whale at it.”
“I know him. I’ll have a talk with Myron when he comes back—in, I mean—and let you know, Cap. You leave him to me!”
Jud Mellen had no more than got out of the building when a fearsome knock came at the door and Chas Cummins appeared, scowling ferociously. “Hello,” he said. “Where’s Foster?”
“Out just now,” replied Joe affably. “Want to leave a message?”
“No—yes—Yes, tell him I say he’s to beat it over to my room the minute he shows up here!”
“All right,” said Joe.
Chas clung to the doorknob and continued to scowl, and studied Joe speculatively. Finally: “Isn’t it a mess?” he demanded. “Everything going like clock-work, and then, bingo—Officer, call the ambulance! Honest, Whoa, I could kick Foster from here to New York and back cheerfully, drat his hide!”
“I wish you could kick him back,” said Joe.
“What do you mean?”