Charlie Creighton was there, and Frank was sure he had a stanch friend in Charlie.
The fellows fell to speaking together in low tones, casting sidelong glances toward Frank. None of them seemed eager or ready to accept his invitation. They seemed to draw a barrier about him, as if they intended to shut him out.
Frank felt it—saw it plainly. He was quick to understand the situation, but he was not satisfied.
"They shall be put to the test," he mentally vowed. "I'll find out who are my friends and who are my enemies."
Then, one by one, he asked them what they would have to drink. Some had excuses, some flatly declined to take anything at all. Some showed their partly emptied glasses, and some said they had quite enough.
Frank's face grew hard and cold as he progressed and met with nothing but refusals. He was coming to Putnam, Stubbs and Creighton. Surely they would not refuse to drink with him!
Putnam saw he was to be asked in a moment. He hastily dashed off half a glass of ale and got up, remarking that he must be going.
"Hold on a moment, old man," said Frank. "I am going to have a lemon-seltzer. Have a drink with me."
"Excuse me," mumbled "Old Put." "I don't care for anything more."
"But you will have one drink with me?" urged Frank.