aged. There was that rascal looking at him
insolently. If the girl had not been shamefully decoyed away from him,
he would not have allowed anyone to look at him insolently. He would
have made nothing of hitting that rogue between the eyes. Afterwards he
would have kicked the other without hesitation. He saw himself doing it;
and in sympathy with this glorious vision Schomberg's right foot, and
arm moved convulsively.

At this moment he came out of his sudden reverie to note with alarm the
wide-awake curiosity of Mr. Ricardo's stare.

"And so you go like this about the world, gambling," he remarked
inanely, to cover his confusion. But Ricardo's stare did not change its
character, and he continued vaguely:

"Here and there and everywhere." He pulled himself together, squared his
shoulders. "Isn't it very precarious?" he said firmly.

The word precarious--seemed to be effective, because Ricardo's eyes lost
their dangerously interested expression.

"No, not so bad," Ricardo said, with indifference. "It's my opinion that
men will gamble as long as they have anything to put on a card. Gamble?
That's nature. What's life itself? You never know what may turn up. The
worst of it is that you never can tell exactly what sort of cards you
are holding yourself. What's trumps?--that is the question. See? Any man
will gamble if only he's given a chance, for anything or everything. You
too--"

"I haven't touched a card now for twenty years," said Schomberg in an
austere tone.

"Well, if you got your living that way you would be no worse than you
are now, selling drinks to people--beastly beer and spirits, rotten
stuff fit to make an old he-goat yell if you poured it down its throat.
Pooh! I can't stand the confounded liquor. Never could. A whiff of neat
brandy in a glass makes me feel sick. Always did. If everybody was like
me, liquor would be going a-begging. You think it's funny in a man,
don't you?"

Schomberg made a vague gesture of toleration. Ricardo hitched up his
chair and settled his elbow afresh on the table.

"French siros I must say I do like. Saigon's the place for them. I see
you have siros in the bar. Hang me if I ain't getting dry, conversing
like this with you. Come, Mr. Schomberg, be hospitable, as the governor
says."

Schomberg rose and walked with dignity to the counter. His footsteps
echoed loudly on the floor of polished boards. He took down a bottle,
labelled "Sirop de Groseille." The little sounds h