as distinctly
conscious, as he bubbled compliments in my ear, of soft thrills of
gratified pride stealing from hat-rim to boot-heels. I was wise, quoth
he--anybody could see that with half an eye; sagacious, versed in the
ways of the world, an acquaintance to be desired; one who had tasted the
cup of life with discretion.

All this pleased me, and in a measure numbed the suspicion that was
thoroughly aroused. Eventually the blue-eyed one discovered, nay,
insisted, that I had a taste for cards (this was clumsily worked in,
but it was my fault, for in that I met him half-way and allowed him
no chance of good acting). Hereupon I laid my head upon one side and
simulated unholy wisdom, quoting odds and ends of poker talk, all
ludicrously misapplied. My friend kept his countenance admirably, and
well he might, for five minutes later we arrived, always by the purest
of chance, at a place where we could play cards and also frivol with
Louisiana State Lottery tickets. Would I play?

"Nay," said I, "for to me cards have neither meaning nor continuity; but
let us assume that I am going to play. How would you and your friends
get to work? Would you play a straight game, or make me drunk, or--well,
the fact is, I'm a newspaper man, and I'd be much obliged if you'd let
me know something about bunco steering."

My blue-eyed friend erected himself into an obelisk of profanity. He
cursed me by his gods--the right and left bower; he even cursed the very
good cigars he had given me. But, the storm over, he quieted down and
explained. I apologized for causing him to waste an evening, and we
spent a very pleasant time together.

Inaccuracy, provincialism, and a too hasty rushing to conclusions,
were the rocks that he had split on, but he got his revenge when he
said:--"How would I play with you? From all the poppycock Anglice bosh
you talked about poker, I'd ha' played a straight game, and skinned
you. I wouldn't have taken the trouble to make you drunk. You never knew
anything of the game, but how I was mistaken in going to work on you,
makes me sick."

He glared at me as though I had done him an injury. To-day I know how it
is that year after year, week after week, the bunco steerer, who is the
confidence trick and the card-sharper man of other climes, secures
his prey. He clavers them over with flattery as the snake clavers the
rabbit. The incident depressed me because it showed I had left the
innocent East far behind and was come