Racing horses and
betting on horse-racing has proved very disastrous to the
Noriaga-Farrel tribe, and the habit ceased with the last survivor of
our dynasty. I'm not such a fool, Senor Parker, as to risk my pride
and my position and my sole hope of a poor but respectable future by
betting the pitiful remnant of my fortune on a horse-race. No, sir,
not if Panchito had been entered against a field of mules. _Adios,
senores_!"
"In the poetical language of your wily Latin ancestors," John Parker
yelled after him, "_Adios_! Go with God!" He turned to his amazed
associates. "How would you old penny-pinchers and porch-climbers like
to have a broth of a boy like that fellow for a son-in-law?" he
demanded.
"Alas! My only daughter has already made me a grandfather," sighed the
president of the Central California Power Company.
"Let's make him president of the merger," the president of the South
Coast Power Corporation suggested. "He ought to make good. He held us
up with a gun that wasn't loaded. Whew-w-w! Boys! Whatever happens,
let us keep this a secret, Parker."
"Secret your grandmother! I'm going to tell the world. We deserve it.
Moreover, that fine lad is going to marry my daughter; she's the genius
who double-crossed her own father and got behind Bill Conway. God
bless her. God bless him. Nobody can throttle my pride in that boy
and his achievements.
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