Man's Club, intently regarding a neatly-lettered placard which
ambiguously advised all concerned in this wise:

IF DRINKING INTERFERES
WITH YOUR BUSINESS,
STOP IT.

A back-room door was opened. A burst of merriment smote across the
loneliness. A head appeared. The tip of its nose quivered.

"Hey, old-timer! Will you walk into my parlor?" it jeered.

Steve walked over with dignity and firmly closed the door, closing
it, through sheer inadvertence, from the inside. A shout of welcome
greeted him.

With one exception--the Transient--they were all old friends; the
Stockman, the Judge, alike darkly attractive; the supple-handed
Merchant, with curly hair and nose; and the strong quiet figure of the
Eminent Person. A wight of high renown and national, this last, who
had attained to his present bad Eminence through superior longevity.
As he was still in the prime of life, it should perhaps be explained
that his longevity was purely comparative, as contrasted with that of
a number of gentlemen, eminent in the same line, who had been a trifle
dilatory at critical moments, to them final.

The Merchant, sometime Banker-by-night, as now, began evening up
chip-stacks. "How much?" he queried. The Judge and the Eminent Person
hitched along to make room between them.