“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.”