triumphantly.
"You'd think he'd blow himself for a new shirt and collar, then," said Barrett.
"He wouldn't be the same man in a stiff collar, Ed. I don't believe he could pull the same in any other rig."
Dan himself was not the same with that impressive legal magnate so near at hand. His mind was so full of him, his eyes so fastened on him, that he had to seek the familiar road to his mouth with slow hand. Barrett looked to see him jab out his eye with his fork. A man had achieved fame, indeed, thought Barrett, when he could move by his mere presence such a vast feeling of respect and awe.
When Thomson finished his meal he took the greasy old flop-brimmed black hat from a corner of the table, put it on as if to announce that his service of convention was at an end, looked savagely about his immediate vicinity to make sure that no valuables were being left behind, and went out. He went with considerable haste, one hand in his trousers pocket, the skirt of his long coat pushed back from his rusty leg, as if pressed by the obligation of immediate payment for what he had consumed.
"He's headin' for the bar," Dan said. "Takes a drink before eatin' and after eatin', and every little while between. If you was to shut his whisky off he'd die in a day."
"If I had him against me I'd send him a barrel," Barrett said.
"Wouldn't make a bit of difference to Charley; he'd only drink so much in a day. You can't get him drunk,
