“East,” replied Nestor.
“Where ye goin’?”
“West.”
“Ain’t much on the talk, be ye, stranger?” sneered the clerk.
“I am when it suits me.”
“Aw! he’s one of them stuck-up automobilists!” put in a tall, thin, dark-complexioned man, who was sitting in one chair, with his feet in another.
“An’ who might you be?” asked Nestor, turning to him.
“Pud Stoneham, at your service,” and the dark man bowed with elaborate grace, a sneering smile spreading over his face.
“Well, you’d better be mindin’ your own business!” snapped Nestor, turning away.
“What’s that!” exclaimed Stoneham, who was a gambler, hanging around the hotel on the lookout for victims. “I don’t allow any man to insult me!” and he reached his hand to his hip-pocket, with a quick gesture.