Greek took his arms down from the back of his chair where he had clasped his hands behind his head, and finished his own high-ball.  Nature in the beginning of things for him had been more kind than to his petulant friend.  He was scarcely more than a boy—­twenty-five, perhaps, from the looks of him—­but physically a big man.  He might have weighed a hundred and eighty pounds, and he was maybe an inch over six feet.  But evidently where nature had left off there had been nobody to go on save the tailor.  His gray suit was faultlessly correct, his linen immaculate, his hose silken and of a brilliant, dazzling blue.  His face was fine, even handsome, but indicating about as much purpose as did his faultlessly correct shoes.  There was an extreme, unruffled good humor in his eyes and about his mouth, and with it all as much determination of character as is commonly put into the rosy face of a wax doll.

“Seeing that you have made the same remark seventeen times since breakfast,” Greek replied, when he had set his empty glass back upon the tray, “I didn’t know that an answer was needed.”

“Well, it’s so,” the pale youth maintained, irritably.

Greek nodded wearily and selected a cigarette from a silver monogrammed case.  The cigarettes themselves were monogrammed, each one bearing a delicately executed W.  C. His companion reached out a shapely hand for the case, at the same time regarding his empty glass.

“Suppose we have another, eh?”

Again Greek nodded.  The lavender young man reached the button, and a bell tinkled in the little buffet at the far end of the car.  The negro lazily polishing a glass put it down, glanced at the indicator, and hastened to put glasses and bottles upon a tray.

“The same, suh?” he asked, coming to the table and addressing Greek.

It was the pale young man who assured him that it was to be the same, but it was Greek who threw a dollar bill upon the tray.

“Thank you, suh.  Thank you.”  The negro bobbed as he made the proper change—­and returned it to his own pocket.

Greek appeared not to have seen him or heard.  He poured his own drink and shoved the bottles toward his friend, who helped himself with skilful celerity.

“Suppose the old gent will hold out long this time, Greek?” came the query, after a swallow of the whisky and seltzer, a shrewd look in the pale eyes.

Greek laughed carelessly.

“I guess we’ll have time to see a good deal of San Francisco before he caves in.  The old man put what he had to say in words of one syllable.  But we won’t worry about that until we get there.”

“Did he shell out at all?”

“He didn’t quite give me carte blanche,” retorted Greek, grinning.  “A ticket to ride as far as I wanted to, and five hundred in the long green.  And it’s going rather fast, Roger, my boy.”

“And my tickets came out of the five hundred?”