Johnny's face flickered with a faint smile and he walked toward them, nodding carelessly at the man behind the bar.
Arch Wiggins looked up, a sickly grin on his flushed face. "Hullo," he grunted, foolishly.
"Not havin' nothin' else to do I reckoned I'd look you up," said Johnny. "Fed yet?"
Arch shrugged his shoulders and Sam Gardner sighed expressively, and then prodded the slumped individual into semblance of intelligence and erectness. This done he kicked the shins of the prostrate cook until that unfortunate raised an owlish, agonized, and protesting countenance to stare at his foreman.
"Nelson wants to know if yo're hungry," prompted Sam, grinning.
"Take it—away!" mumbled the indignant cook. "I won't eat! Who's goin' to make me?" he demanded with a show of pugnacity. "I won't!"
Joe Reilly, painfully erect in his chair, blinked and focussed his eyes on the speaker. "Then don't!" he said. "Shut yore face—others kin eat!" He turned his whole body, stiff as a ramrod, and looked at each of the others in turn. "Don't pay no 'tendon to him. I kin—eat—th'—d—d harness," he asserted, thereby proving that his stomach preserved family traditions.
Johnny laughed at them. "Yo're a h—l of an outfit," he said without conviction. "What do you say about goin' up to th' hotel an' gettin' somethin' to eat? It's past grubtime, but let's see if they'll have th' nerve to try to tell us to get out. Broke?" he inquired, and as they silently arose to their feet, which seemed to take a great
