The Neer-Do-Well | Page 5

"Yes. I used to play."
"Where?"
Mr. Locke avoided answer by calling loudly for a waiter, but when the
orders had been taken Kirk repeated:

"Where did you play, Mr. Locke?"
"Left tackle."
"What university?"
"Oh one of the Southern colleges. It was a freshwater school--you
wouldn't know the name." He changed the subject quickly by adding:
"I just got into town this morning and I'm sailing to-morrow. I couldn't
catch a boat to-day, so I'm having a little blow-out on my own account.
When I recognized you all, I just butted in. New York is a lonesome
place for a stranger. Hope you don't mind my joining you."
"Not at all!" he was assured.
When he came to pay the waiter he displayed a roll of yellow- backed
bills that caused Anthony to caution him:
"If I were you I'd put that in my shoe. I know this place."
Locke only laughed. "There's more where this came from. However,
that's one reason I'd like to stick around with you fellows. I have an
idea I've been followed, and I don't care to be tapped on the head. If
you will let me trail along I'll foot the bills. That's a fair proposition."
"It certainly sounds engaging," cried Higgins, joyously. "The sight of
that money awakens a feeling of loyalty in our breasts. I speak for all
when I say we will guard you like a lily as long as your money lasts,
Mr. Locke."
"As long as we last," Ringold amended.
"It's a bargain," Locke agreed. "Hereafter I foot the bills. You're my
guests for the evening, understand. If you'll agree to keep me company
until my ship sails I'll do the entertaining."
"Oh, come now," Anthony struck in. "The fellows are just fooling.
You're more than welcome to stay with us if you like, but we can't let
you put up for it."
"Why not? We'll make a night of it. I'll show you how we spend money
in St. Louis. I'm too nervous to go to bed."
Anthony protested, insisting that the other should regard himself as the
guest of the crowd; but as Locke proved obdurate the question was
allowed to drop until later, when Kirk found himself promoted by tacit
consent to the position of host for the whole company. This was a little
more than he had bargained for, but the sense of having triumphed in a
contest of good-fellowship consoled him. Meanwhile, the stranger,
despite his avowedly festive spirit, showed a certain reserve.

When the music again struck up he declined to dance, preferring to
remain with Higgins in their inconspicuous corner.
"There's a fine fellow," the latter remarked, following his best friend's
figure with his eyes, when he and Locke were once more alone. "Sweet
nature."
"Anthony? Yes, he looks it."
"He's got just two faults, I always say: he's too modest by far and he's
lazy--won't work."
"He doesn't have to work. His old man has plenty of coin, hasn't he?"
"Yes, and he'll keep it, too. Heartless old wretch. Mr.--What's your
name, again?"
"Locke."
"Mr. Locke." The speaker stared mournfully at his companion. "D'you
know what that unnatural parent did?"
"No."
"He let his only son and heir go to jail."
Mr. Jefferson Locke, of St. Louis, started; his wandering, watchful eyes
flew back to the speaker.
"What! Jail?"
"That's what I remarked. He allowed his own flesh and blood to
languish in a loathsome cell."
"What for? What did they get him for?" queried the other, quickly.
"Speeding."
"Oh!" Locke let himself back in his chair.
"Yes sir, he's a branded felon."
"Nonsense. That's nothing."
"But we love him just the same, criminal though he is" said Higgins,
showing a disposition to weep. "If he were not such a strong, patient
soul it might have ruined his whole life."
Mr. Locke grunted.
"S'true! You've no idea the disgrace it is to go to jail."
The Missourian stirred uneasily. "Say, it gets on my nerves to sit still,"
said he. "Let's move around."
"Patiently! Patiently! Somebody's sure to start something before long."
"Well, I don't care to get mixed up in a row."
Higgins laid a long, white hand upon the speaker's arm. "Then stay
with us, Mr.--Locke. If you incline to peace, be one of us. We're a flock

of sucking doves."
The dancers came crowding up to the table at the moment, and Ringold
suggested loudly: "I'm hungry; let's eat again."
His proposal met with eager response.
"Where shall we go?" asked Anderson.
"I just fixed it with Padden for a private room upstairs," Anthony said.
"All the cafes are closed now, and this is the best place in town for
chicken creole, anyhow."
Accordingly he led the way, and the rest filed out after him; but as they
left the