"Lady with you, sir?" he inquired.
"In my care, yes." Buckton wrote the two names rather unsteadily. "She and I both telegraphed for your best rooms. Please show her to hers at once. She seems to be quite tired."
"I should think so, on a stuffy day like this," said the clerk, affably, "and coming south, too. I see you are from Atlanta. That is a higher altitude than ours."
"You bet it is." The voice was at Buckton's elbow; and turning, he saw Hambright, his fellow-passenger, smiling on him familiarly. "Well, I see you got through all right."
Though highly displeased by again meeting the man, Buckton nodded and forced a casual smile.
"It was pretty dusty and hot," he said.
"Won't you take a smoke before you turn in?" the drummer asked, extending a cigar.
"No, thanks; not to-night," Buckton declined.
"Take a drink? I've got the best samples on earth. My customers say I carry better samples than stock, but that's a joke. Name the brand and I'll lay it before you. I'm some drink-mixer, I am."
"Not to-night; thank you, all the same."