“Yes; some of my other guests object to your presence here.”
“Meaning Jim Duff?” questioned Reade coolly.
“I don't care to discuss the matter with you, Mr. Reade, but I can't entertain you here any longer.”
“Does that apply even to this meal, Mr. Ashby?”
“It does.”
“Very good,” nodded Tom, rising. Harry and Hawkins shoved their chairs back, too, and stood up.
“Say, but I don't like the looks of that!” announced a voice from another table. There were five men seated there, all of them well-dressed and prosperous-looking traveling salesmen, who had arrived that morning.
“This is a very regrettable necessity on my part, gentlemen,” began Proprietor Ashby hurriedly, and plainly ill at ease. “Some of my regular guests object to the presence of these young men, and so—”
“These young gentlemen have gotten in bad by objecting to having their men fleeced here in town, haven't they?” inquired the boldest of the drummers. “I heard something about it this morning.”
“Perhaps you haven't heard all the circumstances,” suggested Ashby in growing embarrassment.