Van Loan eyed him shrewdly.
“Do you feel it as badly as all that?”
Dalrymple nodded.
“I don’t want to be a hero. Who ever heard of a hero with a waistband like mine? No; I’d just like to help our lads grin and bear it, and be a big, cheerful fat brother to them.”
Without a word Mr. Van Loan took a card from his pocket and wrote a few lines thereon.
“Take that down to the Y and tell them to send you on the next ship.” He handed Dimples the card, whereupon the giant stared at him.
“D—d’you know that outfit?”
“Know it?” Van Loan smiled. “I’m the fellow who’s raising the money for them. They’ve darn near broken me, but—it’s worth it.”
With a gurgling shout Dimples wrung the malefactor’s hand; then he bolted for the nearest taxi-stand and squeezed himself through a cab door.
Ten minutes later he entered the boardroom at the Y. M. C. A. and flung Van Loan’s card upon the table.