“Sure. I introduced it in New York, an’ everybody in the Five Hundred copied it an’ named it after me. It made an awful hit.”
Carrigan fled. He went straight for the bar by instinct, for he began to need a drink. Jacqueline proved a prophet. As he dropped his coin on the bar a broad hand swept it back to him. He looked up into the handsome, serious face of Maurie Gordon.
“Partner,” said Maurie, “this drink’s on me. My name’s Gordon.”
“Wait a minute, Maurie,” broke in another voice. “You’re lickerin’ with me, friend. I’m Dave Carey. Glad to meet you. Two comin’ up, bartender!”
“I’m drinkin’ beer,” said Carrigan, remembering orders.
An odd look, which he understood perfectly, came in the eyes of the other men.
“Look here,” went on Maurie, “that girl you brung to the dance is a hell bender. If you ain’t dancin’ all evenin’ with her, maybe I could break in, eh?”
He reinforced his suggestion with a broad wink and a tremendous slap on the shoulder.
“Maybe you could,” said Carrigan.
“I’ll have to introduce you. Miss Silvestre is straight from the East, an’ she don’t quite get the hang of our Western ways.”