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" Your daughter stole some twelve hundred pounds from me,"
Sir Anthony snarled. "Either she returns it by nightfall or
I'll bring action!"
"She'd hardly be wearin' diapers now," Spot reminded him.
Carl changed the subject. "Well, what do you want?"
Spot came to the point. "I want a job. I need work and money. I thought maybe you could help me out."
Carl thought a moment. "See the headwaiter and tell him you're going to work here. He'll give you a uniform and teach you how to wait on table." That would give Spot money and keep him near. He might need Spot's services again sometime.
He ran absently through his mail. A big envelope caught his attention. It was a letter from a law firm, informing him that his sister-in-law had died, and asking if he would please appear that afternoon to hear the will of the deceased.
• Carl went directly to the waiting room of the law office. He paced impatiently up and down the tiny room. Perhaps he would be left enough money to retire and be a country gentleman, he thought, scarcely noticing the young girl who sat quietly watching him.
Lindsey had recognized Carl the minute she saw him
FEBRUARY, 1934
Specters from the past haunted Carl, His forgotten loves
danced by in tinsel parade. "Lindsey," he pleaded, "if you
refuse to believe in me, I'm lost!"
come into the room. His gay and jaunty air, the imperious lift of his shapely head, the finely chiselled Bellairs profile, which she remembered so well from newspaper pictures, all proclaimed Carl as her father.
"Dull, waiting in lawyers' offices, isn't it?" Carl inquired conversationally, smiling at Lindsey. His cultured voice fell softly on Lindsey's burning ears. She looked the other way with a quick, impatient movement.
"These law books are sometimes interesting. Here's something," Carl continued, holding out a richly bound volume. Lindsey deliberately turned her back to him. Carl laughed and put the book back.
A clerk came to the door. "Will you come in please?"
"Both of us?" Carl asked in surprise. The clerk nodded, and Lindsey swept past him into the private office. The lawyer was waiting for them.
"So good of you to come, Miss Bellairs," he said.
Carl stopped in his tracks. "Bellairs?" he faltered.
"Why yes — Mr. Bellairs — you know your daughter, don't you? Her stage name is Lindsey Lane."
So this was Lindsey! Carl coughed nervously.
"Why no, I — I'm sorry, I — "
"You needn't bother to shake hands," Lindsey said coldly. Unaccountably she felt hurt that her father had failed to recognize her. She wanted to hate him, but all her impulses urged her to hurl herself into his arms, to beg him to be a real father to her.
"I'm sorry," the lawyer began, anxious to smooth matters over, "but the deceased's will left only a pound for you
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