"You through?" demanded Loudon.
The drummer endured that disconcerting stare while a man might draw three breaths. Then his eyelids quivered, dropped, and a curious mottled pallor overspread his countenance. He glanced up, met again that disconcerting stare, and quickly looked elsewhere.
"You through?" repeated Loudon.
"I—I don't know as that's any of your business," said the drummer, faintly.
"Git out," ordered Loudon.
"Why, look here! By what right——"
"Git out." Loudon had not raised his voice.
The drummer glanced at Miss Saltoun. She was crumbling her bread and looking over his head with an air of intense boredom. So far as she was concerned, he had ceased to exist. And she had been so friendly and companionable on the long ride from Farewell.
"You've done kept me waitin' some time," suggested Loudon, softly.
Awkwardly, for he found his knees strangely weak, the drummer rose. With a lame attempt at jauntiness he pulled down his vest, shot his cuffs, and teetered from the room. He made his way to the bar and called for whisky. His nerves were rather upset.