"He's in yonder," he continued, "and I can't git him out. They won't let
him come. They're jist making 'im full so he can't do anything, and we
ought to be startin' fer home right away, too!"
"Well, let's go in anyway and see what they are doing," said Cameron
cheerfully, to whom the pale tear-stained face made strong appeal.
"They won't let us," said Tim. "There's a feller there that chucks me
out."
"Won't, eh? We'll see about that! Come along!"
Cameron entered the bar room, with Tim following, and looked about him.
The room was crowded to the door with noisy excited men, many of whom
were partially intoxicated. At the bar, two deep, stood a line of men
with glasses in their hands, or waiting to be served. In the farthest
corner of the room stood Tim's father, considerably the worse of his
day's experiences, and lovingly embracing the hard-faced young man, to
whom he was at intervals announcing, "My name's Tom Haley! Ye can't git
over me!"
As Cameron began to push through the crowd, a man with a very red face,
obviously on the watch for Tim, cried out--
"Say, sonny, git out of here! This is no place fer you!"
Tim drew back, but Cameron, turning to him, said,
"Come along, Tim. He's with me," he added, addressing the man. "He wants
his father."
"His father's not here.
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