not keen. He played for the feeling it gave him of being one of
the bunch, a man among his friends; or if not friends, at least
acquaintances. And, such was his varying luck with the cards, he
played for an hour or so without having won enough to irritate
his companions. Wherefore he rose from the table at supper time
calling one young fellow Frank quite naturally. They went to the
Alpine House and had supper together, and after that they sat in
the office and talked about automobiles for an hour, which gave
Bud a comforting sense of having fallen among friends.

Later they strolled over to a picture show which ran films two
years behind their first release, and charged fifteen cents for
the privilege of watching them. It was the first theater Bud had
entered since he left San Jose, and at the last minute he
hesitated, tempted to turn back. He hated moving pictures. They
always had love scenes somewhere in the story, and love scenes
hurt. But Frank had already bought two tickets, and it seemed
unfriendly to turn back now. He went inside to the jangling of a
player-piano in dire need of a tuner's service, and sat down near
the back of the hall with his hat upon his lifted knees which
could have used more space between the seats.

While they waited for the program they talked in low tones, a
mumble of commonplaces. Bud forgot for the moment his distaste
for such places, and let himself slip easily back into the old
thought channels, the old habits of relaxation after a day's work
was done. He laughed at the one-reel comedy that had for its
climax a chase of housemaids, policemen, and outraged fruit
vendors after a well-meaning but unfortunate lover. He saw the
lover pulled ignominiously out of a duck pond and soused