Mr.Morgan had retired to a room set apart for smoking, on the second floor, and had found a grizzled gentleman lounging in solitary possession.
"'Gene Morgan!" this person exclaimed, rising with great heartiness.
"I'd heard you were in town--I don't believe you know me!" "Yes, I do, Fred Kinney!" Mr.Morgan returned with equal friendliness.
"Your real face--the one I used to know--it's just underneath the one you're masquerading in to-night.

You ought to have changed it more if you wanted a disguise." "Twenty years!" said Mr.Kinney.

"It makes some difference in faces, but more in behaviour!" "It does so!" his friend agreed with explosive emphasis.

"My own behaviour began to be different about that long ago--quite suddenly." "I remember," said Mr.Kinney sympathetically.

"Well, life's odd enough as we look back." "Probably it's going to be odder still--if we could look forward." "Probably." They sat and smoked.
"However," Mr.Morgan remarked presently, "I still dance like an Indian.
Don't you ?" "No.