After wiring an explanation and mailing a check the size of which filled
John Telfer with admiration, Sam with a half dozen fellow roisterers spent
the late afternoon and evening going from saloon to saloon through the
south side. When he got to his apartments late that night, his head was
reeling and his mind filled with distorted memories of drinking men and
women and of himself standing on a table in some obscure drinking place
and calling upon the shouting, laughing hangers-on of his crowd of rich
money spenders to think and to work and to seek Truth.
He went to sleep in his chair, his mind filled with the dancing faces of
dead women, Mary Underwood and Janet and Sue, tear-stained faces calling
to him. When he awoke and shaved he went out into the street and to
another down-town club.
"I wonder if Sue is dead, too," he muttered, remembering his dream.
At the club he was called to the telephone by Lewis, who asked him to come
at once to his office at the Edwards Consolidated. When he got there he
found a wire from Sue. In a moment of loneliness and despondency over the
loss of his old business standing and reputation, Colonel Tom had shot
himself in a New York hotel.
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