"Why, hello, Charlie, old man," said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in
that evening about eight o'clock. "How goes it?" The room was
crowded.

Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled
towards the bar.

"Oh, all right."

"I haven't seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?"

"Friday," said Drouet. "Had a fine trip."

"Glad of it," said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth
which half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in
them. "What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper,
in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar.

"Old Pepper," said Drouet.

"A little of the same for me," put in Hurstwood.

"How long are you in town this time?" inquired Hurstwood.

"Only until Wednesday. I'm going up to St. Paul."

"George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in
Milwaukee last week."

"Yes, I saw George," returned Drouet. "Great old boy, isn't he?