"Oh, we'll see that you catch your boat all right," Kirk assured
him; and then before the other could interfere he rang for the
waiter.

"Give that chap your coat and apron," he ordered, when the
attendant answered, "and when I ring next send him up. Pass the
word to Padden and the others not to notice any little
disturbance. I'll answer for results."

"I'm going to get out," cried the man from St. Louis. "He mustn't
see me."

"He'll see you sure if you leave now. You'll have to pass him.
Stick here. We'll have some fun."

The white-faced man sank back into his chair, while Anthony
directed sharply:

"Now, gentlemen, be seated. Here, Locke, your back to the door--
your face looks like a chalk-mine. There! Now don't be so nervous--
we'll cure this fellow's ambition as a gin-slinger. I'll change
names with you for a minute. Now, Ringold, go ahead with your
story." Then, as the giant took up his tale again: "Listen to him,
fellows; look pleasant, please. Remember you're not sitting up
with a corpse. A little more ginger, Ringie. Good!" He pushed the
button twice, and a moment Later the door opened quietly to admit
a medium-sized man in white coat and apron.

Had the young men been a little less exhilarated they might have
suspected that Locke's story of having been dogged from St. Louis