The men touched glasses and Stafford, putting his glass to his lips, drained it at one gulp. Hadley stared at him in growing amazement. He saw his friend was drunk, but this was the first time he had suspected him of losing his senses.
"And how long has this been going on?" exclaimed his companion when he had recovered somewhat from his amazement.
Stafford laughed.
"Ever since that day you were in my rooms at the hotel," he hiccoughed. "Didn't I tell you that I contemplated matrimony? Don't you remember?"
"I didn't believe you. I thought you were joking. I never thought you were the marrying sort."
"Why not?" spluttered the railroad man in an injured tone.
Hadley looked his friend straight in the face. He was not the kind of a man to shrink from telling a friend the truth.
"Do you want the truth?" he said slowly. "Well—you're too fond of your pleasures—too selfish! That's frank—but it's the truth. Selfishness keeps most men single. They're afraid to lose their liberty. When you marry you can say good-bye to your freedom."
"Who said so?" exclaimed Stafford, his face redder than ever, his lips tightening.
Hadley carelessly flecked the ash from his cigar. Calmly he replied: