"Have you fellows ever noticed that he don't get any letters from the States-never seems to expect any?" asked Johnny Rogers, the one-time foundry man, who sat watching him. Graydon had not been the subject of conversation, but all knew whom Johnny meant by "he."
"I've noticed that, too," said Joe Adams.
"I got him sized up all right," said one of the Spurrier boys. "His people don't know where he's at. That feller's a swell at home an' he's had to skip out. I'll bet my breakfast his name ain't Bansemer. An' if his people don't know where he's at, how in thunder can they write to him? See what I mean?"
"Think he's a bank cashier?" asked Sim Relander.
"Naw; it ain't money, it's some girl. I know these swell guys," said Rogers. "You're right about his people not knowin' where to write. He's a mystery, that feller is. I'll tell what I think: his folks have fired him out--won't recognise him. See? Disgraced 'em, an' all that. That's why he ain't expectin' nothin' from home. He knows he won't get it."
"I feel kind o' sorry for a feller like that," mused Tom Reagan. "I had a brother that had to skip once."
"That so? Did he ever come back?"
"I s'd say not. He ducked for good. Mother had a letter from him couple o' months before I left home. He was in Milwaukee."
"Aw, this Bansemer's not that sort. He's made o' different stuff. Milwaukee? Holy Moses, it's only eighty mile from Chicago!"
"Gee, I'd like to have a glass o' the goods that made Milwaukee famous," sighed Joe Adams.
"I'd like a keg," said Jim Spurrier, with a wistful look in his eyes.
"S'pose we'll ever see a glass o' beer again?" asked the other Spurrier, solemnly.
"I'll bet Bansemer's wonderin' if he'll ever taste champagne again."
"Ask him, Johnny."
"Hey, Bansemer. I've got a riddle for you. What 'u'd you sooner have right now than a bottle of champagne?"
Graydon turned and sauntered slowly over to the group. He paused for a moment in passing, a broad smile on his face.
"A pail of beer," said he.
"Good fer you!" shouted two or three vociferously. He strode off to make ready for bed.
"He's all right," exclaimed Sim Relander feelingly, as if that laconic reply had been the only thing necessary to establish the young man's social standing.
"That feller's been out here only four months, an' I'll bet they ain't any ten men in the Philippines what's had as many clost calls as he's had," said Johnny Rogers. "I was thinkin' about it to-day. He's had more narrow escapes in tight places than---"