Tate almost reeled under the blow.
"Plain—thunder!" he gasped, thinking Jock was joking. But Filmer fixed him with a mirthless stare.
"Plain soda, and no monkeying with it."
The air became electrical.
"Been away?" Murphy tried to break the spell.
"Over to Hillcrest—on business." Jock was gulping down the soda. His throat was dry and burning; and the unaccustomed beverage went against all his desire. "I'm off—to-morrow—for a spell. Won't you join me in a drink, boys?"
The invitation was accepted with alacrity, and Smith asked cordially:
"Where are you bound to, Filmer?"
"Got a job?" Tate gave each man his choice of drinks and looked dubiously at the treater.
"What'll you have now, Filmer?" he asked, "maybe plain water?"