and to relieve his mental anguish." Mr. Weeks rocked toward the
desk, adjusted a chair behind him, spread his legs apart, and sat
down sidewise so that he could reach the inkwell. He overhung his
chair so generously that from the front he appeared to be perched
precariously upon its edge or to be holding some one in his lap.
"Where are those cable blanks!" he cried, irritably, stirring up
the confusion in front of him.

"Here they are." Anthony picked one up from the floor.

"It's that damn wind again. I can't keep anything in place unless
I sit on it. That's the trouble with this country--there's always
a breeze blowing. Thanks! I'm getting a trifle heavy to stoop--
makes me dizzy."

In a moment he read what he had written:

DARWIN K. ANTHONY, Albany, New York.

Your son well and safe. Here as my guest. Asks you cable him money
for return. WEEKS, American Consul.

"That tells the story. It'll please him to know I'm looking after
you, my boy."

"You are very kind."

"Don't speak of it. I'm glad to get in touch with your father. We
need capital in this country."