He knew little of Brevoort's past record, but he knew
that his own would bulk big against him. Brevoort had taken another
drink after they had tacitly agreed to quit. Brevoort was the older
man, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt that
Brevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to their
safety.
"Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of the
saloon.
"Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet."
"I'm goin' back," declared Pete.
"Got another hunch?"--and Brevoort laughed.
"Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink when
be's playin'. And we're sure gamblin'--big."
"Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets.
Come on."
The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return so
soon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gave
it back to him.
"Which calls for a round before we hit the hay," said Brevoort.
The room upstairs was hot and stuffy. Brevoort raised the window,
rolled a cigarette and smoked, gazing down on the street, which had
become noisier toward midnight.
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