“Too bad!” exclaimed Phil.
“If you see him again, anywhere, Smiler, run in and tell me, will you? I’ll be at the Kenora for a bit.”
Smiler nodded, delighted that he was going to have a chance to be of service to the big man he had taken such a fancy to.
“Here!” Phil handed him twenty-five cents, and the boy ran off in the direction of the Chinese restaurant.
Phil continued down the street, knowing that if the little man on the lame brown horse with the white eye was still in town, it would not be long before Smiler would have him wise to it.
He strolled into the dining-room of the Kenora and ordered his lunch. And, as he waited, in came an old acquaintance in all his high-coloured and picturesque splendour––Percival DeRue Hannington.
Hannington spotted Phil at once and strutted over. He shook hands with vigour and set himself down opposite.
“By gad! old chap,––but this is quite refreshing. I’ve often thought about you and your good advice not to be in too big a hurry to buy a blooming rawnch.”
“Why?” inquired Phil. “I’m glad you took it and it did you good.”