“Well, let's go in anyway and see what they are doing,” said Cameron cheerfully, to whom the pale tear-stained face made strong appeal.
“They won't let us,” said Tim. “There's a feller there that chucks me out.”
“Won't, eh? We'll see about that! Come along!”
Cameron entered the bar room, with Tim following, and looked about him. The room was crowded to the door with noisy excited men, many of whom were partially intoxicated. At the bar, two deep, stood a line of men with glasses in their hands, or waiting to be served. In the farthest corner of the room stood Tim's father, considerably the worse of his day's experiences, and lovingly embracing the hard-faced young man, to whom he was at intervals announcing, “My name's Tom Haley! Ye can't git over me!”
As Cameron began to push through the crowd, a man with a very red face, obviously on the watch for Tim, cried out—
“Say, sonny, git out of here! This is no place fer you!”
Tim drew back, but Cameron, turning to him, said,
“Come along, Tim. He's with me,” he added, addressing the man. “He wants his father.”
“His father's not here. He left half an hour ago. I told him so.”
“You were evidently mistaken, for I see him just across the room there,” said Cameron quietly.