Take next train New York Meet me Yale Club All plans upset. Roberts.
Sweet Papa!
Well, I again had the sensations of feelin' like Napoleon, only this time I felt like the well-known army man must of felt durin' the last half of the ninth at Waterloo. . . .
When I fin'ly get past the doorkeeper at the Yale Ctub, the Kid is pacin' back and forth in the lobby and the minute he flashed me he dragged me into a little room at one side. His twitchin' lips showed me where his nerves was.
"Now what the Gehenna's the—" I begins.
"Everything's the matter," he butts in, finishin' for me. "Lower your voice, can't you? This is a gentlemen's club, not a gymnasium!" A yellow piece of paper is shoved under my eyes. "Read that and weep!" he says.
This one is a wireless, readin' thusly:
Arrive pier 49 North River Thursday noon Keep from newspapers Booked as R. H. Carson. . . J. A.
"Who's J. A?" I says, handin' it back.
The Kid bends over and hisses in my ear, like a villain in the old-time gun operas which the movies killed off: "J. A. is J. A. Halliday—my father!"
"Well, that's fine!" I remarks pleasantly. "I'll be glad to meet the old gent. But what's this jam you're in now?"
He swung around on me, and for a instant I thought he was goin' to forget we was in a gentlemen's club and not no gymnasium.
"You—you—you colossal ass!" he busts out fin'ly.
