“A fellow came here early and left it for you while I was sweeping out,” explained the boy. “Said he had to catch a train. It's yours all right, ain't it?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Thorpe.
He took the envelope and walked uncertainly to the tall window. He looked out at the chimneys. After a moment he tore open the envelope.
“I hope there's no bad news, sir?” said the clerk, startled at the paleness of the face Thorpe turned to the desk.
“No,” replied the landlooker. “Give me a receipt. There's a certified check for your money!”
Chapter XXIV
Now that the strain was over, Thorpe experienced a great weariness. The long journey through the forest, his sleepless night on the train, the mental alertness of playing the game with shrewd foes all these stretched his fibers out one by one and left them limp. He accepted stupidly the clerk's congratulations on his success, left the name of the little hotel off Fort Street as the address to which to send the deeds, and dragged himself off with infinite fatigue to his bed-room. There he fell at once into profound unconsciousness.
He was awakened late in the afternoon by the sensation of a strong pair of young arms around his shoulders, and the sound of Wallace Carpenter's fresh voice crying in his ears:
“Wake up, wake up! you Indian! You've been asleep all day, and I've been waiting here all that time. I want to hear about it. Wake up, I say!”