Randall Clayton drew back as a stalwart traveler jostled him, only to spring forward in the ardor of mutual recognition.
"Jack Witherspoon, by all the gods," cried the delighted New
Yorker. "What brings you here?"
"The Chicago Limited, my boy!" coolly answered the jovial Westerner as he dragged his friend back into the café. "I do confess the need of an 'eye-opener' after my meal of cinders."
In ten minutes Clayton knew all the salient facts of Jack's career.
Their lives had diverged at the college gates, and the bustling Witherspoon, now the lawyer of a great Michigan railway company, was on his way to Europe for a six-months' tour.
Clayton's spirits vastly rose in their reminiscent chat, and, in ten minutes, the two ex-collegians were on their way to Clayton's apartment. Members of the same fraternity, it was natural that Witherspoon should gladly accept the offered hospitality of his old-time comrade,
"I am tied down to business," said Clayton, "but I can put you up here far better than Room 999 of any Broadway hotel. We can have our nights together, at least, until the 'Fuerst Bismarck' takes you out on the blue."
They had returned from a jolly supper, after dismissing the carriage, and the pipes were lit before Witherspoon found time to go into his friend's affairs. The memories of old days were still upon them when the Detroit lawyer, after a close study of his friend's face, demanded flatly, "And are you satisfied here?"
"You see my surroundings, Jack," replied Clayton. "I've told you about where I stand."
"But," protested his friend, "your life is too lonely. You know what a genial circle we have in Detroit. You would have already risen to be a man of mark among us! And our old set are now rising to be the men in power. You were easily our leader."