Geary never liked to see anything done better than he could do it himself.  Just now he was vexed because Vandover had got in ahead of him.  He looked after the girl a moment and muttered scornfully: 

“Cheap meat!” adding, “Ah, you bet I wouldn’t do that.  I flatter myself that I’m a little too clever to cut my own throat in that fashion.  I look out after my interests better than that.  Well, Dolly,” he concluded, “I’ve got a thirst on.  Van and Ellis have gone off with their girls; let’s you and I go somewhere and have something wet.”

“All right.  What’s the matter with the Luxembourg?” answered young Haight.

“Luxembourg goes, then,” assented Geary, and they turned about and started for the door.  As they were passing out some one came running up behind them and took an arm of each:  it was Vandover.

“Hello,” cried Geary, delighted, “your girl shook you, didn’t she?”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Vandover.  “Oh, but say, she is out of sight!  Says her name is Grace Irving.  No, she didn’t shake me.  I made a date with her for next Wednesday night.  I didn’t want to be seen around here with her, you know.”

“Of course she will keep that date!” said Geary.

“Well, now, I think she will,” protested Vandover.

“Well, come along,” interrupted young Haight.  “We’ll all go down to the Luxembourg and have something cold and wet.”

“Ah, make it the Imperial instead,” objected Vandover.  “We may find Flossie.”

“Say,” cried Geary, “can’t you live without trailing around after some kind of petticoats?”

“You’re right,” admitted Vandover, “I can’t,” but he persuaded them to go to the Imperial for all that.

At the Imperial, Toby, the red-eyed waiter, came to take their order.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said.  “Haven’t seen you around here for some time.”

“No, no,” said Geary.  “I’ve been too busy.  I’ve been working like a dog lately to get into a certain office.  You bet I’ll make it all right—­all right.  Bring me a stringy rabbit and a pint of dog’s-head.”

“You bet I’ve been working,” he continued after they had settled down to their beer and rabbits, “working like a dog.  A man’s got to rustle if he’s going to make a success at law. I’m going to make it go, by George, or I’ll know the reason why.  I’ll make my way in this town and my pile.  There’s money to be made here and I might just as well make it as the next man.  Every man for himself, that’s what I say; that’s the way to get along.  It may be selfish, but you’ve got to do it.  By God! it’s human nature.  Isn’t that right, hey?  Isn’t that right?”

“Oh, that’s right,” admitted young Haight, trying to be polite.  After this the conversation lagged a little.  Young Haight drank his Apollinaris lemonade through a straw, Geary sipped his ale, and Vandover fed himself Welsh rabbit and Spanish olives with the silent enjoyment of a glutton.  By and by, when they had finished and had lighted their cigars and cigarettes, they began to talk about the last Cotillon, to which Vandover and Haight belonged.