Hurstwood liked Drouet. The latter's genial nature and dressy appearance pleased him. He knew that Drouet was only a travelling salesman--and not one of many years at that--but the firm of Bartlett, Caryoe & Company was a large and prosperous house, and Drouet stood well. Hurstwood knew Caryoe quite well, having drunk a glass now and then with him, in company with several others, when the conversation was general. Drouet had what was a help in his business, a moderate sense of humour, and could tell a good story when the occasion required. He could talk races with Hurstwood, tell interesting incidents concerning himself and his experiences with women, and report the state of trade in the cities which he visited, and so managed to make himself almost invariably agreeable. To-night he was particularly so, since his report to the company had been favourably commented upon, his new samples had been satisfactorily selected, and his trip marked out for the next six weeks. "Why, hello, Charlie, old man," said Hurstwood, as Drouet came in that evening about eight o'clock. "How goes it?" The room was crowded. Drouet shook hands, beaming good nature, and they strolled towards the bar. "Oh, all right." "I haven't seen you in six weeks. When did you get in?" "Friday," said Drouet. "Had a fine trip." "Glad of it," said Hurstwood, his black eyes lit with a warmth which half displaced the cold make-believe that usually dwelt in them. "What are you going to take?" he added, as the barkeeper, in snowy jacket and tie, leaned toward them from behind the bar. "Old Pepper," said Drouet. "A little of the same for me," put in Hurstwood. "How long are you in town this time?" inquired Hurstwood. "Only until Wednesday. I'm going up to St. Paul." "George Evans was in here Saturday and said he saw you in Milwaukee last week." "Yes, I saw George," returned Drouet. "Great old boy, isn't he? We had quite a time there together." The barkeeper was setting out the glasses and bottle before them, and they now poured out the draught as they talked, Drouet filling his to within a third of full, as was considered proper, and Hurstwood taking the barest suggestion of whiskey and modifying it with seltzer. "What's become of Caryoe?" remarked Hurstwood. "I haven't seen him around here in two weeks." "Laid up, they say," exclaimed Drouet. "Say, he's a gouty old boy!" "Made a lot of money in his time, though, hasn't he?" "Yes, wads of it," returned Drouet. "He won't live much longer. Barely comes down to the office now." "Just one boy, hasn't he?" asked Hurstwood. "Yes, and a swift-pacer," laughed Drouet. "I guess he can't hurt the business very much, though, with the other members all there." "No, he can't injure that any, I guess." Hurstwood was standing, his coat open, his thumbs in his pockets, the light on his jewels and rings relieving them with agreeable distinctness. He was the picture of fastidious comfort.