s he was touched by Bill's
unsuspecting trust, and shook his head, and sank again into the fog.

What was the use of trying to go ahead? Wasn't he, after all, merely a
Bill McGolwey himself?

If he was, he wouldn't inflict himself on Claire.

For several minutes he gave up forever the zest of climbing.

When Bill awoke, brightly solicitous about the rest of the quart of
Bourbon, and bouncingly ready to "go out and have a time," Milt loafed
about the streets with him, showing him the city. He dully cut his
classes, next morning, and took Bill to the wharves.

It was late in the afternoon, when they were lounging in the room, and
Bill was admiring his new pants--he boasted of having bought them for
three dollars, and pointed out that Milt had been a "galoot" to spend
ten dollars for shoes--that some one knocked at the door. Sleepily
expectant of his landlady, Milt opened it on Miss Claire Boltwood, Mr.
and Mrs. Eugene Gilson, and Mr. Geoffrey Saxton.

Saxton calmly looked past him, at Bill, smiled slightly, and
condescended, "I thought we ought to call on you, so we've dropped in to
beg for tea."

Bill had stopped midway in scratching his head to gape at Claire. Claire
returned the look, stared at Bill's frowsy hair, his red wrists, his
wrinkled, grease-stained coat, his expression of impertinent stupidity.
Then she glanced questioningly at Milt, who choked:

"Oh yes, yes, sure, glad see you, come in, get some tea, so glad see
you, come in----"

CHAPTER XXXIII

TOOTH-MUG TEA

"My friend Mr. McGolwey--I knew him in Schoenstrom--come on to Seattle
for a while. Bill, these are some people I met along the road," Milt
grumbled.

"Glad to meet 'em. Have a chair. Have two chairs! Say, Milt, y'ought to
have more chairs if you're going to have a bunch of swells coming to
call on you. Ha, ha, ha! Say, I guess I better pike out and give the
folks a chance to chin with you," Bill fondly offered.

"Oh, sit down," Milt snapped at him.

They all sat down, four on the bed; and Milt's inner ear heard a mute
snicker from the Gilsons and Saxton. He tried to talk. He couldn't. Bill
looked at him and, perceiving the dumbness, gallantly helped out:

"So you met the kid on the road, eh? Good scout, Milt is. We always used
to say at Schoenstrom that he was the best darn hand at fixing a flivver
in seven townships."

"So you knew Mr. Daggett at home? Now isn't that nice," said Mrs.
Gilson.

"_Knew_ him? Saaaaay, Mil