The proprietor of the theater was in a genial mood. "Stick around," he seconded. "Your credit is good and it won't worry me none if you never take up your tabs. Laure has got the right idea; play 'em safe and sure, and let the other feller do the work. Now we'll have another bottle." The three of them were still standing at the bar when the curtain fell on the last vaudeville act and the audience swarmed out into the gambling-room of the main saloon. Hastily, noisily, the chairs were removed from the dance floor, then the orchestra began a spirited two-step and a raucous-voiced caller broke into loud exhortations. In a twinkling the room had refilled, this time with whirling couples. Laure raised her arms, she swayed forward into Pierce's embrace, and they melted into the throng. The girl could dance; she seemed to float in cadence with the music; she became one with her partner and answered his every impulse. Never before had she seemed so utterly and so completely to embody the spirit of pleasure; she was ardent, alive, she pulsated with enjoyment; her breath was warm, her dark, fragrant hair brushed Phillips' cheek; her olive face was slightly flushed; and her eyes, uplifted to his, were glowing. They voiced adoration, abandon, surrender. The music ended with a crash; a shout, a storm of applause followed; then the dancers swarmed to the bar, bearing Pierce and his companion with them. Laure was panting. She clung fiercely, jealously, to Phillips' arm. "Dance with me again. Again! I never knew what it was--" She trembled with a vibrant ecstasy. Drinks were set before them. The girl spurned hers, but absent-mindedly pocketed the pasteboard check that went with it. While yet Pierce's throat was warm from the spirits there began the opening measures of a languorous waltz and the crowd swept into motion again. There was no refusing the invitation of that music. Later in the evening Phillips found Tom and Jerry; his color was deeper than usual, his eyes were unnaturally bright. "I'm obliged to you," he told them, "but I've taken a job as weigher with Miller & Best. Good luck, and--I hope you strike it rich." When he had gone Tom shook his head. His face was clouded with regret and, too, with a vague expression of surprise. "Too bad," he said. "I didn't think he was that kind." "Sure!" Jerry agreed. "I thought he'd make good." CHAPTER XX