“Yes, sir.” The dapper hotel clerk laid a rather undue emphasis on the word “Sir.”—“Here it is.”
Victor took the envelope, studied the inscription, then held it up to the light, and, as all these proceedings gave him no clue as to the contents, he presently tore it open.
“I wonder what this means,” he murmured. “Gee; the big boob!” he exclaimed, half-aloud, an instant later. “Now what do you know about that?”
“No bad news, I hope?” ventured the inquisitive clerk.
“Nothing that will get in the papers, I guess,” growled Victor, as he began to read these lines a second time:
“Dear Vic:—
“Desperate cases require desperate remedies. The absent food treatment does not suit my particular constitution. Really, I feel hungry enough to eat brass tacks.
“My adventurous career seems to be not yet over, so you will find me at ‘Spudger’s Peerless.’ Our stay in Kenosha is likely to be a good thing for the paper industry after all.
“Your friend,
“Dave B.”
“Well, now, I’d like to know why in thunder he’s gone to the circus.”