"But everybody who knows you will know I'm not the real guy."
"That's all right. We won't be moving in the same circles as I used to. Want to do it?"
"Wait a minute. It's only fair to warn you that old Silas Gyde was croaked by a gang of blackmailers, and they're after me now."
"But I mean to meet all their demands until we nail them, so there's not much danger."
Bobo's face cleared. "Will I do it----" he began again.
"Hold on! There are two conditions. You must promise to do everything I tell you. And second, you are not to marry any woman under false pretences."
"Good! It's a bargain. From this moment you are John Farrow Norman, the newly-made millionaire, and I am plain Jack Robinson, your secretary."
As the two young men left the café Bobo said: "Where are we going now?"
"First we must find quarters," said Jack. "We don't want to carry these valises around all night."
To the chauffeur who opened the taxi door for them Jack said: "Hotel Madagascar."
As they entered the gorgeous lobby of the famous hotel Bobo was overcome with self-consciousness. Bobo had always thought of the Madagascar as the abiding place of remote and exalted aristocrats. He slunk at Jack's heels with the yellow stick trailing limply.
"Buck up! Buck up!" whispered Jack. "Remember you are the cheese, and I'm only the mite that lives off it."
"Sure! Sure!" murmured Bobo, moistening his lips.
He made an effort, but quailed again before the sharp-eyed bell-boys. Jack reflected that since he was only supposed to be the millionaire of a day, this would appear natural enough.
"Sign the register," he whispered. "Remember you are John Farrow Norman, and I am John Robinson."
Bobo accomplished this all right. As the clerk nonchalantly spun the card around and read the name, he caught his breath slightly, and a wonderful silkiness crept into his voice.
"Very pleased to have you with us, sir. In a way I hope it's like coming home."
The other men behind the desk, arrested by the note of exceeding deference, made excuses to sidle past and glance at the register. Instantly a kind of electric current charged the office, and was presently communicated to the bell-boys' bench, whence it spread throughout the lobby. "It's Jack Norman," the busy whisper went around.