I've been waiting patiently for two hours to see him!"
"He isn't in his room yet?" I ask, in quick alarm.
Angela shakes her pretty head.
"I'll go right up and investigate matters, Angel—eh—Miss Yerkes," butts in Ptomaine, with a silly grin. "They ain't nobody got around to introducin' me yet, so I'll do it myself. I'm no less than Ptomaine Joe and if you ain't heard about me, then you ain't heard about the Statue of Liberty, either!"
"Indeed I have heard about you," smiles Angela, "and I'm awfully glad to meet you personally."
"Me and you both!" says this boy scout, "I'm one of them he-men, from the big, open spaces—a cyclone amongst men, but as gentle as a lamb with women. What are you goin' to do this evenin'?"
"Get upstairs and see if the Kid's there, Stupid!" I hollers, worried sick, and sent this tamale scurryin'.
In a few minutes, Ptomaine plunges out of the elevator, breathless and wild-eyed. Kid Roberts wasn't in his room and a hasty interview with the interested clerk on duty brung out the fact that he hadn't showed up or even phoned a message to us. Well, as the Kid had no intimate friends in Frisco, was a stickler for early retirin' hours with strict trainin' discipline at all times and had been a trifle used up from his battle with that big sailor, I now begin to get genuinely scared. Ptomaine helped my peace of mind a lot by suggestin' that maybe the sailor boy's friends had ganged the Kid in revenge for him beatin' up their pal—a thing I feared myself! Angela,
