"Skirting again," explained Swanson. "He ought to be back before long," added Swanson, jabbing the balls harder and stopping to look at his watch. "It's five past ten now, and he said he'd cut the call short."
"Think any sane guy would quit a pretty girl to spend an evening with you?" inquired Kennedy insultingly, having decided to wile away the time by ragging his big teammate.
"I've a hunch something is wrong with Kohinoor," said Swanson. "He told me he'd break away early and shoot me some billiards before train time. He didn't say just when, but I expected him back by ten."
"Why don't you sue him for divorce if he neglects you?" suggested Kennedy, again seeking to start an argument.
Swanson consulted his watch with gloomy foreboding and declined to engage in repartee.
"Better come drag along down to the train," suggested Kennedy. "I'll buy the gas wagon to haul us. Your little playmate is safe enough."
"I'll hang around here," replied Swanson without spirit.
"All right," Kennedy remarked, rising and stretching himself. "I'm going to dig along and get into the hay before that old rattler starts. I want some sleep. Most of the fellows already have gone."
Swanson resumed his gloomy pastime of making fancy shots on the billiard table. When he looked at his watch again it marked ten-thirty.
He strolled upstairs to the lobby, scanned the writing room and smoking rooms for a sign of McCarthy and then, with a sudden anxiety, he hurried to the telephone and called the Baldwin residence number.