“Do you see that man over there on the last table—he is just going to shoot,” said the barkeeper. “That’s Kelly.”
“My goodness! How he has changed,” exclaimed Claude, hardly willing to believe his eyes. “He used to be a fancy duck, and now he looks as though he didn’t have enough to eat.”
“I haven’t seen you around here of late,” said the man.
“No; I have just come from the West. Kelly used to have a nice position in an insurance office.”
“He lost that, and he has lost every position he has had since then. He makes his living out of pool.”
“Well, I believe I must go and see him,” said Claude to himself, as he walked toward the last table where Kelly was playing. “So Tony has gone up. I wonder if I have not got something else under way that will send Kelly up, too, if he is caught at it? He will have to run that risk.”
Claude caught Kelly’s eyes fastened upon him as he walked up to a chair and seated himself where he could watch the game, but no sign of recognition came forth. Claude was wondering if he had changed, too, but he could not have altered his appearance so much as the other man. His clothes were neat and whole, and that was more than could be said of Kelly. Every once in a while the player looked toward him, and when the game was finished he put up his cue and came and took a chair beside Claude.
“Look here,” he said with an attempt at familiarity, “I think I have seen you once before.”
“Don’t you know me, after all the long months I have spent out West?” said Claude.
“Claude Preston!” exclaimed Kelly. “I knew I had seen you, but I could not place you.”