"You and he are friends, I believe. I thought you'd be interested to know he's getting on well. In fact, he's the best collector I have."
"We're hardly friends," said the consul, cautiously. "I suppose he's all right—must be or Cortlandt wouldn't have taken him up; but there's something about him I don't understand. Either he's on the level, or he's got the nerve of a burglar."
"How so?"
"Well, I know he isn't what he claims to be—I have proof. He's no more
Darwin K. Anthony's son than—"
"Darwin K. Anthony!" exclaimed the railroad man, in amazement. "Did he claim that?"
"He did, and he—" The speaker checked himself with admirable diplomatic caution. "Say, he's taught me one thing, and that is that it doesn't pay to butt into other people's business. I played him to lose, and he won; and I got into a fine mess over it." Weeks wrinkled his face into a ludicrous expression of mournful disgust. "I couldn't pick a winner if there were two horses in the race and one of them had a broken leg. Whether his name is Anthony or Locke makes no difference to me. I got in 'Dutch' for meddling, and Alfarez lost his job for arresting him. It's only a damn fool who gets stung twice in the same spot. I'm through."
"You'll get your money. Anthony told me he'd square up on pay-day."
Weeks snorted at this. "Why, I've got it already. I've been paid. Mrs. Cortlandt sent me her check." He stared at his companion curiously. "Funny, isn't it, how I got called down and Ramen Alfarez got fired on his account? What does it mean?" He winked one red eye in a manner that set Runnels to thinking deeply.
XVI
"8838"