Leaning against the bar were Cooley and the man whom Mellin had seen
lolling beside Madame de Vaurigard in Cooley's automobile in Paris,
the same gross person for whom he had instantly conceived a strong
repugnance, a feeling not at once altered by a closer view.
Cooley greeted Mellin uproariously and Mr. Sneyd introduced the fat man.
"Mr. Mellin, the Honorable Chandler Pedlow," he said; nor was the shock
to the first-named gentleman lessened by young Cooley's adding, "Best
feller in the world!"
Mr. Pedlow's eyes were sheltered so deeply beneath florid rolls of flesh
that all one saw of them was an inscrutable gleam of blue; but, small
though they were, they were not shifty, for they met Mellin's with a
squareness that was almost brutal. He offered a fat paw, wet by a full
glass which he set down too suddenly on the bar.
"Shake," he said, in a loud and husky voice, "and be friends! Tommy," he
added to the attendant, "another round of Martinis."
"Not for me," said Mellin hastily. "I don't often--"
"_What!_" Mr. Pedlow roared suddenly.
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