Pedlow again threw back his head and roared, his vast body
so shaken with mirth that the glass he held in his hand dropped to the
floor.
"There," said Cooley, "that's the second Martini you've spilled. You're
two behind the rest of us."
"What of it?" bellowed the fat man. "There's plenty comin', ain't there?
Four more, Tommy, and bring cigars. Don't take a cent from none of these
Indians. Gentlemen, your money ain't good here. I own this bar, and this
is my night."
Mellin had begun to feel at ease, and after a time--as they continued to
sit--he realized that his repugnance to Mr. Pedlow was wearing off; he
felt that there must be good in any one whom Madame de Vaurigard liked.
She had spoken of Pedlow often on their drives; he was an "eccentric,"
she said, an "original." Why not accept her verdict? Besides, Pedlow
was a man of distinction and force; he had been in Congress; he was a
millionaire; and, as became evident in the course of a long recital of
the principal events of his career, most of the great men of the time
were his friends and proteges.
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