"As if it mattered a curse," he laughed contemptuously.

His eyes were transferred to the door. It had opened, and with the puff
of following wind there came a crowd of men, emerging like specters from
the blue haze of the smoker. They had evidently been "smoked out." Some
of them were sober.

Garrison half-lowered his head as the crowd entered. He did not wish to
be recognized. The men, laughing noisily, crowded into what seats were
unoccupied. There was one man more than the available space, and
he started to occupy the half-vacant seat beside the girl with the
slate-colored eyes. He was slightly more than fat, and the process of
making four feet go into two was well under way when the girl spoke.

"Pardon me, this seat is reserved."

"Don't look like it," said Behemoth.

"But I say it is. Isn't that enough?"

"Full house; no reserved seats," observed the man placidly, squeezing
in.

The girl flashed a look at him and then was silent. A spot of red was
showing through the tan on her cheek; Garrison was watching her under
his hat-brim. He saw the spot on her cheeks slowly grow and her eyes
commence to harden. He saw that she was being annoyed surreptitiously
and quietly. Behemoth was a Strephon, and he thought that he had found
his Chloe.