“Good-morning, Sutton,” remarked David blandly. “Finding out how much the public owes you for your astonishing good cheer—eh?”
“Mornin’, Mr. Whitcomb,” mumbled the Boniface. “Um—yes; I was sort of goin’ over m’ books. Warm mornin’, ain’t it?”
He eyed David closely, taking note apparently of the heavy ring of virgin gold on the third finger of his left hand and descending slyly to the polished toes of his tan Oxfords.
“How much do I owe you?” asked the young man nonchalantly, allowing a thin wreath of smoke to escape from his lips.
“‘Twon’t break ye, I guess,” hazarded Mr. Sutton, pushing a slip of pink paper across the desk with alacrity. “The’s a few extrys on this week’s bill,” he added, breathing heavily as he indicated with the handle of his pen various items annotated on the account.
David flung his half-smoked cigarette out of the open window and produced a roll of bills from his pocket, from which he detached one.
“Take it out of that,” he said carelessly. “I need some change.”
“Yes, sir; all right, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Sutton effusively.
He sucked in his lips in a windy whisper as he counted out the change in bills of smaller denominations and topped them with a little pile of silver.
“Hope you find everythin’ t’ your likin’ at the Eagle.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” he said. “I’m used to roughing it.”
The hotel-keeper signed his name to the receipted bill with a heavy flourish.
Then he climbed hastily down from his perch.
“Come across,” he said hospitably, “an’ have one on me. Anythin’ you say, Mr. Whitcomb.”
“Something cold, if you have it,” David directed the bartender”—and bitter. No, no! not too much of that. Fill it up with water.”
He drank thirstily and set down the glass, lifting his eyes to look out of the window at a passing vehicle.
“That’s the Hon’rable S. Jarvis, _Es_quire,” pronounced his host, sucking his lips over the contents of his own glass. “Warm man, Jarvis.”
“By that you mean?” queried David, strolling toward the door.
“He’s got the rocks, Jarvis has; but my! ain’t he the screechin’ limit? I’ll bet you——”
Mr. Sutton waddled heavily after David, and seated himself comfortably in one of the big splint-bottomed chairs ranged along the piazza for the convenience of patrons.