Kirkwood's waiter put in an inopportune appearance with the bill. The young
man paid it. When he looked up again Calendar had swung squarely about
in his chair. His eye encountered Kirkwood's. He nodded pleasantly.
Temporarily confused, Kirkwood returned the nod.

In a twinkling he had repented; Calendar had left his chair and was wending
his way through the tables toward Kirkwood's. Reaching it, he paused,
offering the hand of genial fellowship. Kirkwood accepted it half-heartedly
(what else was he to do?) remarking at the same time that Calendar had
recovered much of his composure. There was now a normal coloring in the
heavily jowled countenance, with less glint of fear in the quick, dark
eyes; and Calendar's hand, even if moist and cold, no longer trembled.
Furthermore it was immediately demonstrated that his impudence had not
deserted him.

"Why, Kirkwood, my dear fellow!" he crowed--not so loudly as to attract
attention, but in a tone assumed to divert suspicion, should he be
overheard. "This is great luck, you know--to find you here."

"Is it?" returned Kirkwood coolly. He disengaged his fingers.

The pink plump face was contorted in a furtive grimace of deprecation.
Without waiting for permission Calendar dropped into the vacant chair.

"My dear sir," he proceeded, unabashed, "I throw myself upon your mercy."

"The devil you do!"

"I must. I'm in the deuce of a hole, and there's no one I know here besides