Halfway down the last flight of stairs, he met Jackson Frost. Max humbly stepped aside to allow Frost to pass, and then went on to the bar, secured the drinks which had been ordered, and took them to the cardroom.
Atherton was still there, but two or three minutes later he rose to his feet, nodded to the two other members, and left the room.
“He’s going up to Frost’s room,” thought the waiter.
He glanced impatiently at his watch. It was five minutes to seven. In five minutes he would be off duty.
“Confound it!” he exclaimed inwardly. “Why couldn’t Atherton have waited that long? However, I don’t suppose he and Frost will finish their talk in five minutes. All the same, I hope Sachs won’t be late to-night.”
Sachs was the name of the waiter who was to relieve Max at seven o’clock. He was very punctual as a rule, and this was no exception. Just as the clock was striking seven, he appeared at the cardroom door.
“Anything new, Max?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Max answered shortly. “Good night.”
“What’s your rush?” asked Sachs, with a grin. “You seem to be in a tearing hurry.”
“I am,” was the answer, and without another word Max left the room.