To Enoch’s surprise, Sue insisted on returning home alone in a car.
“Please don’t bother about me,” she told him as he saw her aboard. It is quite possible that she divined from his quickened step as they left Joe Grimsby that Enoch had a pressing engagement, and that it was already nearly noon. Enoch did not insist—the fact was he had made up his mind to reach his club as soon as possible, waiting only for her to wave him a cheery good-by from the car platform, and then turning at a rapid pace set out for the up-town Elevated.
En route he told himself that Joe was in love with her, but that Sue did not care for him. He felt this strongly. She had been too cheery in his presence, more interested in Joe’s work than himself, and had lacked that telltale silent manner, which is an unfailing sign—the forerunner of melancholy, which is the sign of true love, indeed. Lamont was paramount in his mind. He wondered what influence he had had over Sue by his visit. Again he had determined to find him. When he reached his club he shut his jaw hard as he ascended the steps—muttering to himself, unconscious even that the doorman had welcomed him with a respectful “Good morning, sir.”
CHAPTER XIII
A roar of laughter broke from the big front room as Enoch crossed the club’s hall. The volley of hilarity came from a group of men seated around a small table littered with eight freshly drained cocktail-glasses, a silver-plated bell with a hair-trigger, and three brazen ash-trays heaped with cigarette butts. It was one of those high-keyed, cackling outbursts that perorated the point of a new story and left no possible doubt to the passer-by as to what kind of a story it was. Some stories, like some poisonous weeds, are born and thrive in the shade.
As Enoch entered the room, he saw, to his satisfaction, that Lamont was among the group. It was evident, too, from his manner and his quiet smile, that the tale had been of his telling. The merriment subsided in chuckles; the group, still red to the gills from laughter, suddenly caught sight of Enoch, and one of those abrupt silences ensued, that told plainly he was not welcome. He came forward, however, receiving a sullen glance of recognition from Lamont, a half-hearted “Hello, Crane!” from another, and a hesitating “Er—won’t you join us?” from a third, and the third was Teddy Dryer.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Enoch, and drew up a chair, which they grimly made room for.
“Take the orders, please,” he said, turning to the waiter hovering back of him.
“They’re taken, Mr. Crane.”
“Take them again,” said Enoch sharply, and sat down.