The shadows in the room lengthened until it was difficult to distinguish the various objects scattered about the place. The few members that had dropped into the club faded into dark images barely discernible in their broad leather chairs. Then, of a sudden, the lights were switched on. The sharp rays that spread from the clusters of electric lamps revealed a man's figure outlined in the doorway. His eyes traveled about the room as if imploring a nod of recognition, but none was vouchsafed him.
"Collins!" exclaimed Cooper in an undertone.
"Get him!" commanded Fanwell. "Remember, I'm a relation of yours—from the West!"
Hiding his reluctancy, Cooper left his seat and advanced toward the doorway.
"Hello, George!" He extended a hand in greeting.
An expression of drunken amazement overspread Collins's dissipated face. He came forward, almost falling on the other man's shoulders.
"Hello, Tom!" he returned the greeting. "Glad there's one man that ain't ashamed to talk to me. Just look at 'em around here! They act as if they didn't know me. That's a hell of a way to treat a good fellow like me, now ain't it? Just because my name's been in the newspapers!"
Cooper led his friend toward the window.
"Glad to have you join me," he said. "I've got a distant relation here—just in from the West. Wants to see the town."
"Rotten town!" growled Collins. "And the people in it—worse! You're the only good fellow, Tom, I've met all afternoon. Everybody else looked at me like I had a knife out for 'em. Had to drink alone every place I went."