And Garwood left, swearing. Down the hallway he heard the click of the chips of other games; at Barrett's room he had a glimpse of the old man sitting in all his dignity with some of the boys from Logan County leaning over him. Sprague's door, too, was open; he caught the laughter within, and as he passed, he suddenly beheld O'Malley and Knowlton talking with Randolph. The scene was etched on his mind, the three men standing there in the bright light, the hats of O'Malley and Knowlton thrown back, Randolph bareheaded, his coat and waistcoat off, his long cravat unknotted, and dangling over his soiled bosom. As he passed he heard Knowlton say: "All right then, Hal." Garwood hastened on. Hot as the little old hotel was, he broke into a cold sweat. The very thing he had feared was coming to pass! And they were so open about it, too! His first thought was to turn back and rouse Rankin, but a strange childish fear of Randolph seized him, a morbid dread of being seen by any of his opponents just then, and he kept on. When he reached the head of the stairs, Garwood saw Pusey shambling across the office, tapping his little cane on the floor, as a blind man might, though he did it meditatively, as if he were striking at the crawling flies instead of the cockroaches from which he was separated. Garwood stiffened at the sight of this old enemy. His breath came fast, his cold sweat was succeeded by a flush of heat, and then: "Oh, Pusey!" he called. The editor turned. His quick eye caught the congressman on the stairs. "Heh?" he said. Garwood descended, with dignity now, for he was emerging into public view again. The editor drew slowly toward the staircase. They met. "I'm going for a little walk--thought maybe the night air might refresh me. Care to go along?" "Don't care if I do," said Pusey. The office was deserted by all save the landlord who snoozed behind his counter, the insects that buzzed around the lamps, and the flies that walked like somnambulists across the ceiling, and on the walls. The two men sauntered carelessly toward the side door. Once outside Garwood sniffed in eagerly the night air that bathed his brow. "Isn't it a bit cooler?" he said. "Don't know but it is," acquiesced Pusey. "Heat don't bother me much, though." The sky was black overhead, not a star was to be seen. In the west, now and then, a glare of heat lightning trembled over all the sky, photographing for them instantly the strange roofs, the strange chimneys, the black outline of strange trees, beginning to lurch slowly like elephants, in the little wind that stirred. "I believe there's a breeze," Garwood said. He was still sniffing the night air like an animal. "Rain, too, in that air, eh?" Pusey tapped along on the old brick sidewalk with his little stick and said nothing. "Have a cigar?" said Garwood presently.