"Naw; it ain't money, it's some girl. I know these swell guys," said Rogers. "You're right about his people not knowin' where to write. He's a mystery, that feller is. I'll tell what I think: his folks have fired him out—won't recognise him. See? Disgraced 'em, an' all that. That's why he ain't expectin' nothin' from home. He knows he won't get it."
"I feel kind o' sorry for a feller like that," mused Tom Reagan. "I had a brother that had to skip once."
"That so? Did he ever come back?"
"I s'd say not. He ducked for good. Mother had a letter from him couple o' months before I left home. He was in Milwaukee."
"Aw, this Bansemer's not that sort. He's made o' different stuff. Milwaukee? Holy Moses, it's only eighty mile from Chicago!"
"Gee, I'd like to have a glass o' the goods that made Milwaukee famous," sighed Joe Adams.
"I'd like a keg," said Jim Spurrier, with a wistful look in his eyes.
"S'pose we'll ever see a glass o' beer again?" asked the other Spurrier, solemnly.
"I'll bet Bansemer's wonderin' if he'll ever taste champagne again."
"Ask him, Johnny."