distinguished company. Wandel loitered, too, and was unusually flushed,
refilling his glass rather often. Lambert, Blodgett, and he were at a
final game of billiards.

"You've been with Dalrymple all evening," George said, significantly, to
Wandel.

"My dear George," Wandel answered, easily, "I observe the habits of my
fellow creatures. Be they good or bad I venture not to interfere."

"An easy creed," George said. "You're not your brother's keeper."

"Rather not. The man that keeps himself makes the world better."

George had a disturbing fancy that Wandel accused him.

"You don't mean that at all," he said. "When will you learn to say what
you mean?"

"Perhaps," Wandel replied, sipping, "when I decide not to enter
politics."

"Your shot," Blodgett called, and Wandel strolled to the table.

Dalrymple didn't play, his accuracy having diminished to the point of
laughter. He edged across to George.

"Old George Morton!" he drawled. "Young George Croesus! And all that."

The slurred last phrase was as abhorrent as "why don't you stick to your
laundry?" It carried much the same implication. But Dalrymple was up to
something, wanted something. He came to it after a time with the air of
one conferring a regal favour.

"Haven't got a hundred in your pocket, Croesus? Driggs and bridge have
squeezed me dry. Blodgett's got bones. Never saw such a man. Has
everything. Driggs is running out. Recoup at bones. Everybody shoot. Got
the change, save me running upstairs? Bad for my heart, and all that."

He grinned. George grinned back. It was a small favour, but it was a
start, for the other acquired bad habits readily. Ammunition against
Dalrymple! He had always needed it, might want it more than ever now. At
last Dalrymple himself put it in his hand.

He passed over the money, observing that the other moved so as to screen
the transaction from those about the table.

"Little night-cap with me?" Dalrymple suggested as if by way of payment.

George laughed.

"Haven't you already protected the heads of the party?"

Dalrymple made a wry face.

"Do their heads a lot more good than mine."

The game ended.

Dalrymple turned away shouting.

"Bones! Bones!"

Blodgett produced a pair of dice with his air of giving each of his
patrons his heart's desire. Wandel yawned. Dalrymple rattled the dice
and slithered them across the billiard table.

"Coming in, George?" Blodgett roared.

"Thanks. I'm off to bed."

But