each other. Bill scratched his
head, and slowly closed one eye.

"There's a good open game of stud at the North Star," he proffered. "I kin
get the gentleman a seat. No limit."

"Maybe our friend's luck don't run to stud," hazarded the Colonel. "Stud
exacts the powers of concentration, like faro." And he also closed one
eye. "It's rather early in the evening foh close quarters. Are you
particularly partial to the tiger or the cases, suh?" he queried of me.
"Or would you be able to secure transient happiness in short games, foh a
starter, while we move along, like a bee from flower to flower, gathering
his honey?"

"If you are referring to card gambling, sir," I answered, "you have chosen
a poor companion. But I do not intend to be a spoil sport, and I shall be
glad to have you show me whatever you think worth while in the city, so
far as I have the leisure."

"That's it, that's it, suh." The Colonel appeared delighted. "Let us
libate to the gods of chance, gentlemen; and then take a stroll."

"My bag will be safe here?" I prompted, as we were about to file out.

"Absolutely, suh. Personal property is respected in Benton. We'd hang the
man who moved that bag of yours the fraction of one inch."

This at least was comforting. As much could not be said of New York City.
The Colonel led down the echoing hall and the shaking stairs, into the
lobby, peopled as before by men in all modes of attire and clustered
mainly at the bar. He led directly to the bar itself.

"Three, Ed. Name your likker, gentlemen. A little Double X foh me, Ed."

"Old rye," Bill briefly ordered.

The bartender set out bottle and whiskey glasses, and looked upon me. I
felt that the bystanders were waiting. My garb proclaimed the "pilgrim,"
but I was resolved to be my own master, and for liquor I had no taste.

"Lemonade, if you have it," I faltered.

"Yes, sir." The bartender cracked not a smile, but a universal sigh,
broken by a few sniggers, voiced the appraisal of the audience. Some of
the loafers eyed me amusedly, some turned away.

"Surely, suh, you will temper that with a dash of fortifiah," the Colonel
protested. "A pony of brandy, Ed--or just a dash to cut the water in it.
To me, suh, the water in this country is vile--inimical to the human
stomick."

"Thank you," said I, "but I prefer plain lemonade."

"The gent wants his pizen straight, same as the rest of you," calmly
remarked the bartender.

My lemonade being prepared, the C