"Boyd has been telling me of his adventures," said Mildred. "He is going to dine with us."
"Indeed." Mr. Wayland displayed no great degree of enthusiasm. "And
have you returned, like Pizarro, laden with all the gold of the Incas?
Or did Pizarro return? It seems to me that he settled somewhere on the
Coast." The old man laughed at his own conceit.
"I judge Pizarro was a better miner than I," Boyd smiled. "There were plenty of Esquimau princes whom I might have held for ransom, but if I had done so, all the rest of the tribe would have come to board with them."
"Have you come home to stay?"
"No, sir; I shall return in a few weeks."
Mr. Wayland's cordiality seemed to increase in some subtle manner.
"Well, I am sorry you didn't make a fortune, my boy. But, rich or poor, your friends are delighted to see you, and we shall certainly keep you for dinner. I am interested in that Northwestern country myself, and I want to ask some questions about it."
CHAPTER X
IN WHICH BIG GEORGE MEETS HIS ENEMY
It was well on toward midnight when Emerson reached his hotel, and being too full of his visit with Mildred to sleep, he strolled through the lobby and into the Pompeian Room. The theatre crowds had not dispersed, and the place was a-glitter; for it was the grand-opera season. The room was so well filled that he had difficulty in finding a seat, and he made his way slowly, meditating gloomily upon the fact that out of all this concourse in which he had once figured not a single familiar face greeted him. Finding no unoccupied table, he was about to retreat when he heard his name spoken and felt a vigorous slap upon the back.