“What did you do, Patricia?”

“I fed him.”

“Did he really eat?”

“Like a starved cat.”

“Hm-m-m,” said Beth.  “What next, I wonder?”

Patsy wondered, too, the cold shivers chasing one another up and down her back.  The boy was coming toward them, coolly puffing a cigar.  He did not seem to totter quite so much as before, but he was glad to sink into an easy chair.

“How do you feel?” asked Beth, regarding him curiously.

“Like one of those criminals who are pampered with all the good things of life before being led to the scaffold.”

“Any pains?”

He shook his head.

“Not yet.  I’ve asked the clerk, whenever I signal him, to send someone to carry me to my room.  If I’m not able to say good-bye to you, please accept now my thanks for all your kindness to a stranger.  You see, I’m not sure whether I’ll have a sudden seizure or the pains will come on gradually.”

“What pains?” demanded Patsy.

“I can’t explain them.  Don’t you believe something is bound to happen?” he inquired, nervously removing the ash from his cigar.

“To be sure.  You’re going to get well.”

He made no reply, but sat watching Beth’s nimble fingers.  Patsy was too excited to resume her embroidery.

“I wonder if you are old enough to smoke?” remarked Beth.

“I’m over twenty-one.”

“Indeed!  We decided you were about eighteen.”

“But we are not Spanish in Sangoa.”

“What are your people?”

“Formerly all Americans.  The younger generation are, like myself I suppose, Sangoans by birth.  But there isn’t a black or yellow or brown man on our island.”

“How many inhabitants has Sangoa?”

“About six hundred, all told.”

There was silence for a while.

“Any pains yet?” inquired Beth.

“Not yet.  But I’m feeling drowsy.  With your permission I’ll lie down and take a nap.  I slept very little last night.”

He threw away his cigar, which he had smoked nearly to the end, and rising without assistance, bowed and walked away.

“Will he ever waken, I wonder?” said Beth softly.

“Of course,” declared Patsy.  “He has crossed the Rubicon and is going to get well.  I feel it in my bones!”

“Let us hope,” responded Beth, “that Ajo also feels it in his bones, rather than in his stomach.”

CHAPTER X

STILL A MYSTERY

The day advanced to luncheon time and Uncle John and the Weldons came back from their mountain trip.  Hollywood is in the foothills and over the passes are superb automobile roads into the fruitful valleys of San Fernando and La Canada.

“Seen anything of the boy—­A.  Jones?” inquired Arthur.

“Yes; and perhaps we’ve seen the last of him,” answered Beth.

“Oh.  Has he gone?”