for. The drunken buccaroos swarmed disorderly to the door and halted.
Once more the new superintendent's ways took them aback. Here was the
decent table with lights serenely burning, with unwonted good things
arranged upon it--the olives, the oranges, the preserves. Neat as parade
drill were the men's places, all the cups and forks symmetrical along the
white cloth. There, waiting his guests at the far end, sat the slim young
boss talking with his boarder, Mr. Bolles, the parts in their smooth hair
going with all the rest of this propriety. Even the daily tin dishes were
banished in favor of crockery.

"Bashful of Sam's napkins, boys?" said the boss. "Or is it the
bald-headed china?"

At this bidding they came in uncertainly. Their whiskey was ashamed
inside. They took their seats, glancing across at each other in a
transient silence, drawing their chairs gingerly beneath them. Thus
ceremony fell unexpected upon the gathering, and for a while they
swallowed in awkwardness what the swift, noiseless Sam brought them. He
in a long white apron passed and re-passed with his things from his
kitchen, doubly efficient and civil under stress of anxiety for his young
master. In the pauses of his serving he watched from the background, with
a face that presently caught the notice of one of them.

"Smile, you almond-eyed highbinder," said the buccaroo. And the Chinaman
smiled his best.

"I've forgot something," said Half-past Full, rising. "Don't let 'em skip
a course on me." Half-past left the room.

"That's what I have been hoping for," said Drake to Bolles.