"Where's the—kid?" said Kars sharply.
"Sitting around, I guess."
Bill craned carefully. Then he sat back.
"See him?" demanded Kars.
"Sure. They're together. A bottle of wine's keeping them busy."
A look of impatience flashed into the eyes of Kars. His rugged face darkened.
"It's swinish!" he cried. "It's near getting my patience all out. Wine. Wine and women. What devil threw his spell over the boy's mother letting him quit her apron strings——"
"Murray, I guess," interjected Bill.
"Murray! Yes!"
Kars relapsed into silence again. Nor did either of them speak again till the music ceased. A vaudeville turn followed. A disgustingly clad, bewigged soubrette murdered a rag time ditty in a rasping soprano, displaying enough gold in her teeth to "salt" a barren claim. No one gave her heed. The lilt of the orchestra elicited a fragmentary chorus from the audience. For the rest the people pursued the prescribed purpose of these intervals in the dance.