affairs on the tapis. And I'm to be demobilized myself next week.
Chucked out into the blooming street with a gratuity and a couple of
medals. Damn the luck."

He remained absorbed in his own reflections for a minute, blowing
smoke rings with meticulous care.

"I wonder if a fellow _could_ make it go in Mexico?" he drawled.

Hollister made no comment.

"Oh, well, hang it, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he
remarked, with an abrupt change of tone. "I'm going to a hop at the
Granada presently. Banish dull care and all that, for the time being,
anyway."

His gaze came to an inquiring rest on Hollister.

"What's up, old thing?" he asked lightly. "Why so mum?"

"Oh, nothing much," Hollister answered.

"Bad thing to get in the dumps," Rutherford observed sagely. "You
ought to keep a bottle of Scotch handy for that."

"Drink myself into a state of mind where the world glitters and
becomes joyful, eh? No, I don't fancy your prescription. I'd be more
apt to run amuck."

"Oh, come now," Rutherford remonstrated. "It isn't so bad as that.