For the kid's support, anyway. Why don't you get after him?"
Marie looked down over the golf links, as the car swung around
the long curve at the head of the slope. "I don't know where he
is," she said tonelessly. "Where did you see him, Joe?"
Joe's hesitation lasted but long enough for him to give his
mustache end a twist. Marie certainly seemed to be well "over
it." There could be no harm in telling.
"Well, when I saw him he was at Alpine; that's a little burg up
in the edge of the mountains, on the W. P. He didn't look none
too prosperous, at that. But he had money--he was playing
poker and that kind of thing. And he was drunk as a boiled owl,
and getting drunker just as fast as he knew how. Seemed to be
kind of a stranger there; at least he didn't throw in with the
bunch like a native would. But that was more than a month ago,
Marie. He might not be there now. I could write up and find out
for you."
Marie settled back against the cushions as though she had
already dismissed the subject from her mind.
"Oh, don't bother about it, Joe. I don't suppose he's got any
money, anyway. Let's forget him."
"You said it, Marie. Stacked up to me like a guy that's got
just enough dough for a good big souse.
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