There was no mistaking the fearful grief
that smouldered behind Haight's dull, listless eyes. For a moment
Vandover thought of Turner Ravis. But even if she had turned him off,
that alone would not account for his friend's fearful condition of mind
and body.
"What is it, Dolly?" persisted Vandover. "We used to be pretty good
chums, not so long ago."
They sat down on the edge of the bed, and for a moment their positions
seemed reversed: Haight the one to be protected and consoled, Vandover
the shielding and self-reliant one.
Young Haight passed his hand over his face before he answered, and
Vandover noticed that his fingers trembled like an old man's.
"Do you remember that night, Van, when you and Charlie and I all went
out to Turner's house, and we had _tamales_ and beer, and a glass broke
in that peculiar way, and I cut my lip?"
Vandover nodded, forcing his attention against the alcoholic fumes, to
follow his friend's words.
"We went down to the Imperial afterward," Haight continued, "and ran
into Ellis, and we had something more to eat.
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