ty, for they met Mellin's with a
squareness that was almost brutal. He offered a fat paw, wet by a full
glass which he set down too suddenly on the bar.

"Shake," he said, in a loud and husky voice, "and be friends! Tommy," he
added to the attendant, "another round of Martinis."

"Not for me," said Mellin hastily. "I don't often--"

"_What!_" Mr. Pedlow roared suddenly. "Why, the first words Countess de
Vaurigard says to me this afternoon was, 'I want you to meet my young
friend Mellin,' she says; 'the gamest little Indian that ever come down
the pike! He's game,' she says--'he'll see you _all_ under the table!'
That's what the smartest little woman in the world, the Countess de
Vaurigard, says about you."

This did not seem very closely to echo Madame de Vaurigard's habit of
phrasing, but Mellin perceived that it might be only the fat man's way
of putting things.

"You ain't goin' back on _her_, are you?" continued Mr. Pedlow. "You
ain't goin' to make her out a liar? I tell you, when the Countess de
Vaurigard says a man 's game, he is game!" He laid his big paw cordially
on Mellin's shoulder and smiled, lowering his voice to a friendly
whisper. "And I'll bet ten thousand dollars right out of my pants pocket
you _are_ game, too!"

He pressed a glass into the other's hand. Smiling feebly, the
embarrassed Mellin accepted it.

"Make it four more, Tommy," said Pedlow. "And here," continued
this thoughtful man, "I don't go bandying no ladies' names around a
bar-room--that ain't my style--but I do want to propose a toast. I won't
name her, but you all know who I mean."

"Sure we do," interjected Cooley warmly. "Queen! That's what she is."

"Here's _to_ her," continued Mr. Pedlow. "Here's to her--brightest and
best--and no heel-taps! And now let's set down over in the corner and
take it easy. It ain't hardly five o'clock yet, and we can set here
comfortable, gittin' ready for dinner, until half-past six, anyway."

Whereupon the four seated themselves about a tabouret in the corner,
and, a waiter immediately bringing them four fresh glasses from the bar,
Mellin began to understand what Mr. Pedlow meant by "gittin' ready for
dinner." The burden of the conversation was carried almost entirely
by the Honorable Chandler, though Cooley, whose boyish face was deeply
flushed, now and then managed to interrupt by talking louder than the
fat man. Mr. Sneyd sat silent.

"Good ole Sneyd," said Pedlow. "_He_ never talks, jest