“Of course, you ain’t,” replied Harvey, “come on.”
“I’m just overcome with the heat. I—”
The reeling man broke off suddenly. He saw Harry and Grogan.
“Who the devil are you?” he demanded truculently.
“My name is Harry Boland,” replied the young man.
“Oh, the son of John Boland, eh?” jeered the drunken man. “Son of John Boland, ’lectric light king. John Boland’s son, eh?”
“Yes,” replied Harry sharply, “what of it?”
“Nothing I can prove,” retorted Welcome, grimly, “only—give my regards to your father. Just tell him Tom Welcome sends his regards. He’ll know.” He began to whimper softly. “Poor old Tom Welcome, who might have been riding in his carriage this day.” He stopped whining abruptly and snarled at the young man: “If there was any justice on God’s earth—”
Welcome lurched forward. Harry grasped his wrist and peered into his bloated face.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded.