"What makes you think he'll wire you money?"

"He's never failed yet. You see, I'm something like a comet; he
knows I'll be around every so often."

Mr. Weeks began to complain. "I don't know you, Mr.--what's the
name again? Anthony? I'm a poor man and I've been an easy mark for
every tropical tramp from Vera Cruz to Guayaquil. Your father may
not be able to help you, and then I'll be holding the bag."

"I think you don't understand who he is. Did you ever hear of
Darwin K. Anthony, of Albany, New York?"

Mr. Weeks's thick lids opened, this time to display a far
different emotion. "Certainly."

"Well, he's the goat."

Slowly, grandly, the American consul set his frame in motion,
whereat Kirk said, quickly, "Don't get up; I understand." But Mr.
Weeks had gone too far to check himself, so he lurched resiliently
into an upright position, then across the floor, and, reaching out
past his undulating front, as a man reaches forth from the midst
of a crowd, shook his guest heartily by the hand.

"Why didn't you say so?" he bubbled. "I'm here to accommodate
folks like you. Darwin K. Anthony! Well, RATHER."

"Thanks." The young man wiped his hand surreptitiously. "If you