"No, I do not. I just discovered to-day that your name is Jefferson
Locke. Stein told me."
Anthony laughed lightly.
"Oh, laugh, if you want to. You're a smooth article with your talk about football and automobiles and millionaire fathers, but you happened to select the wrong millionaire for a father this time, and I'm going to give you a taste of our Spiggoty jails."
"You can't arrest me. You offered to take me in."
The fat man grew redder than ever; he seemed upon the point of exploding; his whole body shook and quivered as if a head of steam were steadily gathering inside him.
"You can't get out of it that way," he cried at the top of his little voice. "I've fed you for a week. I put you up at my club. That very suit of clothes you have on is mine."
"Well, don't burst a seam over the matter. My Governor doesn't know the facts. I'll cable him myself this time."
"And live off me for another week, I suppose? Not if I know it! He says he has no son; isn't that enough?"
"He doesn't understand."
"And how about those gambling debts?" chattered the mountain of flesh. "You thought you'd fool me for a week, while you won enough money from my friends to get away. Now I'LL have to pay them. Oh, I'll fix you!"