door.

"Meeting's adjourned," cried Jim Ellis, and got up to accept the invitation
and range along the bar with the rest. He had not been particularly
interested in bridge-whist anyway.

The others remained seated, and the bartender called across to know what
they would have. Pink cut the cards very carefully, and did not look up.
Rowdy thrust both hands in his pockets and turned his square shoulder to the
bar. He did not need to look--he knew that voice, with its shoddy
heartiness.

Men began to observe his attitude, and looked at one another. When one is
asked to drink with another, he must comply or decline graciously, if he
would not give a direct insult.

Harry Conroy took three long steps and laid a hand on Rowdy's shoulder--a
hand which Rowdy shook off as though it burned. "Say, stranger, are you too
high-toned t' drink with a common cowpuncher?" he demanded sharply.

Rowdy half-turned toward him. "No, sir. But I'll be mighty thirsty before I
drink with you." His voice was even, but it cut.

The room stilled on the instant; it was as if every man of them had turned
to lay figures. Harry Conroy had winced at sight of Rowdy's face--men saw
that, and some of them wondered. Pink leaned back in his chair, every nerve
tightened for the next move, and waited. It was Harry--handsome, sneering, a
certain swaggering defiance in his pose --who first spoke.

"Oh, it's you, is it? I haven't saw yuh for some time. How's