The train was swinging along through open, rolling country when Locke, now being left severely to himself on account of his churlishness by his resentful teammates, tired of gazing dully at the flying landscape, rose and passed down the aisle of the special car. Scarcely anyone seemed to observe him, and he noticed no one. When he had disappeared, however, Billy Orth shook his head and turned to Larry Dalton. “Thundering shame, Larry,” he said in a low tone. “Do you know, I think I’ve solved the trouble.” “Then you’re wiser than the rest of us.” “It’s the girl business, to begin with.” “Oh, we’ve all guessed that much, but being thrown down by a girl isn’t enough to put an ordinary well-balanced chap, same as Lefty seemed to be, all to the punk. Of course, it might affect a fellow, but it wouldn’t turn him from a fine, jolly soul into a sour, nasty-tempered, unreasoning grump. You’ve got to go farther, Billy.” “I have been,” asserted the other with assurance. “What way?” “He’s taken to hitting the booze.” “No!” breathed Laughing Larry incredulously. “Why, he never drank. He’d take a glass of beer now and then, to be sure, but you couldn’t drive a drink of hard stuff into him. You’re wrong, Orth.” “When a man gets double crossed in love he’s liable to do any freakish thing, and lots of ’em affiliate with the jag juice.” “But Locke hasn’t been full. No one has seen him under the influence.” “Perhaps he’s under the influence right now. Perhaps he’s keeping about so much redeye in his skin all the time. Maybe that’s why he herds by himself so much. He sure has had plenty of chance to drink by his lonesome lately.” “Yes, but―― Oh, say, you’ve got to have something better than mere supposition to base this on.” “I have.” “What?” “Saw him coming out of a saloon last night. Couldn’t believe my eyes at first, but it was Lefty, sure. You know firewater works in peculiar ways with some men. Occasionally it turns a jolly good fellow into an ugly dog. Lefty hasn’t hit it up enough to stagger or show the usual signs, but in his effort to drown his sorrow he’s taken just enough to change him completely. Something ought to be done. But when a fellow is absolutely unapproachable, what can you do?” “What can you?” echoed Larry. In the meantime, passing through the train, Lefty had entered the ordinary smoker, which chanced to be so well filled that nearly every seat was taken. Through a blue haze of smoke he peered in search of a seat as he walked along the aisle. Suddenly a young man took a brierwood pipe from his mouth, stared hard at the pitcher, and rose to his feet. “By Jove! Phil Hazelton!” he exclaimed. “Why, how are you, old man?” Lefty stared, unsmiling, at the speaker, apparently failing to notice the extended hand. “Pardon me,” he said; “I don’t remember you.”