"Well, can't you see what you're doing?" muttered the tall young man thickly.
Haines smiled. The chap who has played halfback four years on his college eleven and held the boxing championship in his class is apt to be good-natured. He does not have to take offense easily. Besides, Randolph Langdon was plainly under the influence of whisky. So Haines smiled pleasantly at the taller young man.
"Beg your pardon—my fault," Haines said.
"Well, don't let it occur again," mumbled Langdon, as he strolled with uneven dignity toward the door. Bud Haines laughed.
"I guess young Langdon is going to be one of the boys, isn't he?"
"He's already one of them when it comes to a question of fluid capacity," laughed some one behind him, and Bud whirled to meet the gaze of his friend, Dick Gullen, representative of one of the big Chicago dailies.
"You down here to see Langdon, too?" commented Bud.
Cullen nodded. "Queer roost where this Senator is to hang out, isn't it?"
"He can't be a rich one, then," suggested Haines.
Cullen chuckled.