not dispelled by the gruff greeting of the bar-tender.

"Well, what is it you fellers want?"

"A stein apiece, and a sandwich--you serve them, don't you?"

"Sure; ham or beef?"

"Ham."

There was no cordiality, no welcome in either manner or speech. It was
plainly evident the proprietor of the saloon felt no enthusiasm over his
unknown customers. The eyes of the two men met understandingly, but the
few words exchanged between them were entirely foreign to the situation.
Mike came back with the beer and sandwiches, pausing this time to wipe
off the table, as an excuse for speech.

"You guys live 'round here?" he asked gruffly, "Don't remember ever
seein' yer in here before."

"No," returned West indifferently, looking directly into the hard face.
"I'm a smoke inspector, an' we just dropped in on our way back to the
office. Why?"

"Oh, nuthin'; only we don't get much trade outside the neighbourhood. I
wish ter hell ye'd get after that tannery; can't hardly breathe here
sometimes."

"That's what we were looking after; had some complaints lately."