It was Hatty who came bursting through the swinging doors to disturb him. One peek at his chum's face and "O Lord!" murmured Baldwin, "still on it." Aloud he added, "Sit in, Bud," and Harty sat in, after first ordering a round of drinks.
Baldwin lifted his drink. "Fell off that water-wagon kind o' sudden, didn't you, Bud," but without even a curious glance emptied his glass.
Four or five hands were played, and, luck still running the sailor's way, he was smiling like a moonlit sea, when, "Say, Baldy," shook him out of his revery.
"Lord, Bud! What?"
"A hell of a fine bunch we are."
"Fine how?"
"To be spending our Christmas here."
"Why, where else would we be?"
"Where but home?"
Baldwin smiled broadly. "Say, Bud, I don't see you logging any record-breaking runs for home.