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OM watched the car down the drive; he had had a drink or two, but they had only served to stimulate him, to overcome his shyness in these strange surroundings, and to make him feel the equal if not the superior to the men he saw around him.

He was extraordinarily happy. He took a deep breath, and the top button of his coat flew off and hit a pillar with a whack like a pistol shot; but he only muttered "hell" and fell back into ecstasy again. In the darkness the links stretched away to unseen boundaries, beyond which here and there were the lights of houses. And in that cool darkness his girl, his wonderful girl, was moving toward one of them.

After a time he turned and looked into the club house behind him. He could see the man he was dining with, in consultation with two or three others, in a room furnished with a luxury he had never dreamed of. He was not thinking, certainly he had no plan. He was vaguely relieved that he had not seen Herbert Forrest, but that was about all.

The dinner was announced.

But he found that certain ceremonies preceded the meal. Back in the grill room bottles were produced from lockers, ice ordered, and cocktails mixed. The group toasted the West, and in another round of drinks he had to reply for the East. His head was buzzing, but he managed something.

"To the East," he said, rather grimly, smiling. "It's crowded and dirty and ornery, but it eats our beef and drinks good drinks. God bless it."

It was after eight when they sat down to dinner, and all his resolves faded before their well enough meant hospitality. They ate in the grill, and by the time the dinner parties preceding the dance had been seated in the dining