"What shall it be?" he asked as they took seats at a small table.
"Lemonade." McDevitt had never drunk openly. Joe smiled grimly at the call-boy's amazement. Lemonade was not often called for at that hotel. Hall's own order was gin.
McDevitt was disconcerted. He had thought to receive a cordial greeting, forgetting that Joseph Hall had left the North West Mounted Police in disgrace, and might wish to ignore his past. He hesitated; then, seeing that there were to be no questionings, he began autobiographically:
"I've been living in Montana for some time. I run a little store. Say, look here," his voice changed to anxiety as he breathed his desire, "I'm here looking for a job. I'm no lobbyist, but I want a position at the capital."
"Oh, you do?"
"Yes. I thought maybe you could give me a good word. I know you're a leading light in Montana politics. I seen by the papers that you was State senator."
"Oh, you did?" Little encouragement could be gathered from the noncommittal responses. Hall's restless, drumming fingers and lowered gaze threw the suppliant out of countenance. McDevitt, in turn, grew silent and drank the last of his mild refreshment. Hall looked up, with shifty eyes.
"Can you pray?"
"Now?" gasped the startled ex-preacher.