ou is good for sore eyes!
I just been hankerin' for a friend."

"You need a guardeen more'n a friend," remarked some one.

Hill began to bristle and to look around in search of the one who had
spoken. Clancy grabbed his arm, and drew him away down the lobby to a
couple of leather chairs.

"What's the matter with you, Hiram?" the motor wizard asked.

"I reckon my nerves have got twisted, Clancy," Hill answered. "I'm all
in a twitter, seems like. Ever since I piped off dad in that automobile
last Saturday mornin' I haven't been able to look around without seein'
some un I think's him. Queer, ain't it? I'm all flustered."

"Better put the clamps on your nerves, Hiram, or you'll be in jail the
first thing you know."

"How's the shoulder?"

"Coming along in fine shape."

"I didn't know whether you'd be able to answer that there telegram of
mine in person, and if you was able, I didn't know whether you would."

"Look here, Hiram," said Clancy, "didn't I tell you I'd help you find
your father if you'd keep mum about what Lafe Wynn did?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I always try to pay my debts."

"Got any trace o' Gerald Wynn, Burton, and Katz yet?"

"No."

"Then that fifteen thou' is gone for good?"

"I'm afraid so. But let's not talk about that. You say you're hot on the
trail of your father. Tell me about it."

Hiram started with the Chinese procession at Sixth and Main Streets.
Very earnestly he told how he had disrupted the dragon, and he described
other events that happened down to the point where he found himself with
the extra Stetson in his hand.

"That hat," declared Hiram, "sure belonged to dad. I got it away from
him somehow, and I hung to it all the while my wits was woolgatherin'
and I was bein' toted to a drug store. Then I--- Say, what you laughin'
at?"

Clancy had been enjoying Hill's recital to the limit it would be hard to
mix six dozens of eggs, a Chinese dragon, and a runaway monkey into a
small-sized riot and not get a little fun out of it. The sober,
matter-of-fact way in which Hiram narrated the details added to the
humor of the story.

"Never mind what I'm laughing at, Hiram," sputtered Clancy, wiping his
eyes. "You say you found something under the sweatband of that Stetson.
What was it?"

"A card. Here it is."

Hill thrust a hand into one of his pockets and drew forth an oblong
square of pasteboard. This he handed to his companion.

"Sr. J. Lopez," was the name on the card, follow