“Hello, Chad!” the latter greeted the new-comer.  “I’ve just trimmed up Watson here, and I’m looking for new worlds to conquer.  I’ll roll you fifty points to see who pays for a lunch afterward.”

Sidwell smiled tolerantly.  “I think it would be better for my reputation to settle without playing.  Put up your stick and I’m with you.”

Hough shook his head.  “No,” he objected, “I’m not a Weary Willie.  I prefer to earn my dole first.  Come on.”

But Sidwell only looked at him.  “Don’t be stubborn,” he said.  “I want to talk with you.”

Hough returned his cue to the rack lingeringly.  “Of course, if you put it that way there’s nothing more to be said.  As to the stubbornness, however—­” He paused suggestively.

Sidwell made no comment, but led the way directly toward the street.

“What’s the matter?” queried Hough, when he saw the direction they were taking.  “Isn’t the club grill-room good enough for you?”

Sidwell pursued his way unmoved.  “I said I wished to talk with you.”

“I guess I must be dense,” Hough answered gayly.  “I certainly never saw any house rules that forbid a man to speak.”

Sidwell looked at his companion with a whimsical expression.  “The trouble isn’t with the house rules but with you.  A fellow might as well try to monopolize the wheat-pit on the board of trade as to keep you alone here.  You’re too confoundedly popular, Hough!  You draw people as the proverbial molasses-barrel attracts flies.”

The big man laughed.  “Your compliment, if that’s what it was, is a bit involved, but I suppose it’ll have to do.  Lead on!”

Sidwell sought out a modest little cafe in a side street and selected a secluded booth.

“What’ll you have?” he asked, as the waiter appeared.

Hough’s blue eyes twinkled.  “Are you with me, whatever I order?”

Sidwell nodded.

“Club sandwiches and a couple of bottles of beer,” Hough concluded.

His companion made no comment.

“Been some time, hasn’t it, since you surprised your stomach with anything like this?” bantered the big man, when the order had arrived and the waiter departed.

Sidwell smiled.  “I shall have to confess it,” he admitted.

“I thought so,” remarked Hough dryly.  “Next time you depict a plebeian scene you can remember this and thank me.”

This time Sidwell did not smile.  “You’re hitting me rather hard, old man,” he said.

“You deserve it,” laconically answered Hough.

“But not from you!”

Hough meditatively watched the beads bursting on the surface of the liquor.

“Admitted,” he said; “but the people who ought to touch you up are afraid to do so, and someone ought to.”  He smiled across the table.  “Pardon the brutal frankness, but it’s true.”

Sidwell returned the glance.  “You think it’s the duty of some intimate to perform the kindness of this—­touching up process occasionally, do you?”