“Thanks, I—oh!” Pant choked up, flushed, then backed awkwardly out of the office. His mind was in a whirl. So that was it, his companion at the home of the old Don was a favored nephew of the main stockholder in the Central Chicle Company.
“And I told him once I thought the Company unscrupulous in its dealings with smaller holders,” he thought to himself. “I may have been wrong. I only hope he has forgotten.”
Kirk had forgotten or forgiven, for he treated the boy from Central America like a long lost brother. Hurrying him out of the noisy office, he led the way to a quiet little eating place. There, after ordering a savory lunch, he invited Pant to unburden his soul.
“Time to tell the whole story,” Pant thought to himself.
“Kirk,” he said suddenly, leaning far over the table, “you remember the story of the first Don’s silver box of pearls?”
“Yes.”
“I found it.”
“You didn’t!” The other boy stared, unbelieving.
“I did. Pearls and all.”
“Wha—where it is?” stammered Kirk.