Bob's impressions of Marion were of great mills and sawdust-burners
along a wide river; of broad, sawdust-covered streets; of a single block
of good, brick stores on a main thoroughfare which almost immediately
petered out into the vilest and most ramshackle frame "joints"; of wide
side streets flanked by small, painted houses in yards, some very neat
indeed. Tally walked rapidly by the respectable business blocks, but
pushed into the first of the unkempt frame saloons beyond. Bob followed
close at his heels. He found himself in a cheap bar-room, its paint and
varnish scarred and marred, its floor sawdust-covered, its centre
occupied by a huge stove, its walls decorated by several pictures of the
nude.

Four men were playing cards at an old round table, hacked and bruised
and blackened by time. One of them was the barkeeper, a burly individual
with black hair plastered in a "lick" across his forehead. He pushed
back his chair and ducked behind the bar, whence he greeted the
newcomers. Tally proffered a question. The barkeeper relaxed from his
professional attitude, and leaned both elbows on the bar. The two
conversed for a moment; then Tally nodded briefly and went out. Bob
followed.

This performance was repeated down the length of the street. The
stage-settings varied little; same oblong, painted rooms; same varnished
bars down one side; same mirrors and bottles behind them; same
sawdust-strewn floors; same pictures on the walls; same obscure, back
rooms; same sleepy card games by the same burly but sodden type of men.
This was the off season. Profits were now as slight as later they would
be heavy. Tim talked with the barkeepers low-voiced, nodded and went
out. Only when he had systematically worked both sides of the street did