aroused; he played the stupid, unseeing, patient, and timid person he
was so eminently not. Plainly these people desired his absence; and
Pringle highly resolved to know why. He now blinked mildly.

"But I'm not sleepy a-tall," he objected.

He tried and missed an easy shot; he chalked his cue with assiduous
care.

"Here, you! Quit knockin' those balls round!" bawled Max, the
bartender. "What you think this is--a kindergarten?"

"Why, I paid for all the games I lost, didn't I?" asked Pringle, much
abashed.

He mopped his face. It was warm, though the windows and doors were
open.

"Well, nobody's going to play any more with you," snapped Max. "You
bore 'em."

He pyramided the balls and covered the table. With a sad and lingering
backward look Pringle slouched abjectly through the wide-arched
doorway to the bar.

"Come on, fellers--have something."

"Naw!" snarled José Espalin. "I'm a-tryin' to theenk. Shut up, won't
you?"