“Hope you find everythin’ t’ your likin’ at the Eagle.”
David shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, it’s all right,” he said. “I’m used to roughing it.”
The hotel-keeper signed his name to the receipted bill with a heavy flourish.
“Heh?” he ejaculated.
Then he climbed hastily down from his perch.
“Come across,” he said hospitably, “an’ have one on me. Anythin’ you say, Mr. Whitcomb.”
“Something cold, if you have it,” David directed the bartender”—and bitter. No, no! not too much of that. Fill it up with water.”
He drank thirstily and set down the glass, lifting his eyes to look out of the window at a passing vehicle.
“That’s the Hon’rable S. Jarvis, Esquire,” pronounced his host, sucking his lips over the contents of his own glass. “Warm man, Jarvis.”