The cabman put an end to the performance. He
was tranquil and unemotional, and he soothed them down and coaxed
them into the cab. The band in the room above resumed the dreamy
waltz music of "Bid me Good-bye and go!" and they went.
Carew subsided into the corner, breathing hard and feeling his eye.
Charlie leant forward and peered out into the darkness. They were
nearly at the club before they spoke. Then he said, "Well, I'm
blessed! We made a nice mess of that, didn't we?"
"I'd like to have got one fair crack at some of 'em," said the
Englishman, with heartfelt earnestness. "Couldn't we go back now?"
"No what's the good? We'd never get in. Let the thing alone. We
needn't say anything about it. If once it gets known that we were
chucked out, we'll never hear the last of it. Are you marked at
all?"
"Got an awful swipe in the eye," replied the other briefly.
"I've got a cut lip, and my head nearly screwed off. You did that.
I'll know the place again. Some day we'll get a few of the right
sort to come with us, and we'll just go there quietly, as if we
didn't mean anything, and then, all of a sudden, we'll turn in and
break the whole place up! Come and have a drink now."
They had a silent drink in the deserted club. The mind of each was
filled with a sickening sense of defeat, and without much conversation
they retired to bed.
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