Gordon groaned and went on with the women, saying: "Come up to the house when you escape, Mr. O'Neil. I shall have dinner served."
Mr. Slater came forward slowly, dragging his clothes-bag with him. The two shook hands.
"What in the world are you doing here, Tom?"
"Nothing!" said Slater. He had a melancholy cast of feature, utterly out of keeping with his rotund form. In his eye was the somber glow of a soul at war with the flesh.
"Nothing?"
"I had a good job, putting in a power plant for his nibs"—he indicated the retreating Gordon with a disrespectful jerk of the thumb—"but I quit."
"Not enough pay?"
"Best wages I ever got. He pays well."
"Poor grub?"
"Grub's fine."