"Couldn't you take mine?" I faltered; "I've been waiting now these seven hours."
"Closing time," he ripped out still more tartly; "come again to-morrow."
There was a growling thunder from the crowd behind, and the weary, disappointed stampeders slouched away.
Body and soul of me craved for sleep. Beyond an overwhelming desire for rest, I was conscious of nothing else. My eyelids were weighted with lead. I lagged along dejectedly. At the hotel I saw the Prodigal.
"Get fixed up?"
"No, too late."
"You'd better take advantage of the general corruption and the services of Ten-Dollar Jim."
I was disheartened, disgusted, desperate.
"I will," I said. Then, throwing myself on the bed, I launched on a dreamless sea of sleep.