“Yes, sir!” burst in Mrs. Ikey, on her knees between Ikey and the president. “You leave him to me, sir, and I’ll make him promise! Go away, sir, now, and leave him to me! I’ll answer for it. The answer’s yes! yes!! yes!!!”
* * * *
Did Ikey promise? He did. And did he keep it? I can’t tell you, for he’s a secretive little cuss, is Ikey.
But he took the five thousand dollars sure enough and sold up the flat in Eighty-First Street, and shortly afterward disappeared along with Mrs. Ikey and little Ikey with the tooth, and nobody in New York has ever seen them since.
But there is a man over in Los Angeles who very much resembles Ikey. He says his name is Cole —Isaac Cole. He has a wife who is copper-haired and tailor-made, and one son; and he also has a nose that is pliable and restless and immense. But this Mr. Isaac Cole is a reputable merchant.
His ways of doing business are well known throughout the whole of California, and though they say you must get up very early in the morning if you want to catch him napping, they all admit that his methods are at least legal; and some say he is absolutely honest.
He smokes no cigarettes and never goes to a race meeting, and he may possibly be the same Ikey. But, on the other hand, he may not; and there is no possible means of finding out.
Adventure Tales, Volume 6 Page 41