"Why—er—yes," says he. "That is what I am usually called."
"I see," says I. "Used to sail his 60-footer, did you?"
No, that wasn't quite the idea, either. That's somewhere near his line, though, and he wants to see Mr. Robert very particular.
"I think I may assure you," the Captain goes on, "that it will be to his advantage."
"In that case," says I, "you'd better tell it to me; private sec., you know. And if you make a date that's what you'll have to do, anyway. Suppose you come along and feed with me. Then you can shoot the details durin' lunch and we'll save time. Oh, I'll charge it up to the firm, never fear."
The Cap. don't seem anxious to have his information strained through a third party that way, but I finally convinces him it's the regular course for gettin' a hearing so he trails along to the chophouse. And, in spite of his flannel shirt, Rupert seems well table broken. He don't do the bib act with his napkin, or try any sword-swallowin' stunt.
"Now, what's it all about?" says I, as we gets to the pastry and demitasse.
"Well," says Killam, after glancin' around sleuthy and seein' nobody more suspicious than a yawnin' 'bus boy, "I have found the lost treasure of José Caspar."
"Have you?" says I, through a mouthful of strawb'ry shortcake. "When did he lose it?"
"Haven't you ever read," says he, "of Gasparilla?"