It was too much for Kirk, however, and he deferred his trip over the "Line," spending his time instead at the Wayfarers Club. In his daylight hours he listened to Weeks's unending dissertations upon the riches of the tropics; at night he played poker with such uniform bad luck that his opponents developed for him an increasing affection. But all things have an end, and Friday morning broke clear and hot. "We'll hear from the old gentleman to-day, sure," he told Weeks at breakfast. "He's regularity itself. The train despatchers set their watches by him." "Now that it has cleared off, we must look into the cocoanut business," the consul announced. "I'll make you a rich man, Kirk." "I'm rich, anyhow, or I will be. Money doesn't mean much to me." "Your father is--many times a millionaire, isn't he?" Weeks' little red eyes were very bright and curious. Kirk had seen that look many times before and knew its meaning. Hence he replied rather brusquely: "So I believe." And a moment later declared his determination to avail himself of the good weather and see something of the town. The prospect of squaring his account with this fawning fat man filled him with relief, and once away from the Consulate he stayed until late in the afternoon. It was nearly dark when he strolled in, to inquire: "Well, did you get an answer?" "Yes." Weeks fumbled excitedly through the papers on his desk. "How much did he send? "Here's the message; read it yourself." Kirk read as follows: WEEKS, Consul, Colon. Your guest an impostor. Have no son. ANTHONY. "Well, I'll be damned!" he ejaculated. "This is a joke!" Weeks was beginning to pant. "A joke, hey? I suppose it was a joke to impose on me?" "Don't you believe I'm Kirk Anthony?" "No, I do not. I just discovered to-day that your name is Jefferson Locke. Stein told me." Anthony laughed lightly. "Oh, laugh, if you want to. You're a smooth article with your talk about football and automobiles and millionaire fathers, but you happened to select the wrong millionaire for a father this time, and I'm going to give you a taste of our Spiggoty jails." "You can't arrest me. You offered to take me in." The fat man grew redder than ever; he seemed upon the point of exploding; his whole body shook and quivered as if a head of steam were steadily gathering inside him. "You can't get out of it that way," he cried at the top of his little voice. "I've fed you for a week. I put you up at my club. That very suit of clothes you have on is mine." "Well, don't burst a seam over the matter. My Governor doesn't know the facts. I'll cable him myself this time." "And live off me for another week, I suppose? Not if I know it! He says he has no son; isn't that enough?" "He doesn't understand." "And how about those gambling debts?" chattered the mountain of flesh. "You thought you'd fool me for a week, while you won enough money from my friends to get away. Now I'LL have to pay them. Oh, I'll fix you!"