“Get them to give you another, Tim,” said he. “No knock-out drops, if I can help it.”
The men drank, and some one ordered another round.
“Tim,” said Orde, low-voiced, “get the crowd together and we'll pull out. I've a thousand dollars on me, and they'll sand-bag me sure if I go alone. And let's get out right off.”
Ten minutes later they all stood safely on the lighted thoroughfare of Water Street.
“Good-night, boys,” said Orde. “Go easy, and show up at the booms Monday.”
He turned up the street toward the main part of the town. Newmark joined him.
“I'll walk a little ways with you,” he explained. “And I say, Orde, I want to apologise to you. 'Most of the evening I've been thinking you the worst fool I ever saw, but you can take care of yourself at every stage of the game. The trick was good, but your taking the other fellow's drink beat it.”
VIII
Orde heard no more of Newmark—and hardly thought of him—until over two weeks later.