t called them from their game. They
were both too great proficients in play to require that absorption
of faculties inferior gamblers need. They could, and did, talk of
everything that came uppermost, the terms of the game dropping through
the conversation like the measured booming of great guns amid the
clattering crash of musketry. Luck for some time had favored Holy Paul;
and while he became blander, softer, and more benign of look, Grog
grew fierce, his eyes fiery, and his words sharp and abrupt. Classon's
polished courtesy chafed and irritated him, but he seemed determined
to control his anger as far as he might, and not give his adversary
the transient advantage of temper. Had spectators been admitted to the
lists, the backers would have most probably taken the Churchman. His
calm countenance, his mild, unexcited eye, his voice so composed and
gentle, must have made Paul the favorite.

"We shall scarcely have time for another game, Kit,"--he'd have called
him Grog, but that he was losing,--"I perceive the day is beginning to
break."

"So am I, for the matter of that," said Davis, with a bitter laugh. "You
have won--let me see--forty-six, and twenty-seven, and a hundred and
twelve,--that was a 'thumper,'--and thirty-four, besides that loose cash
there,--about two hundred and forty or fifty naps, Master Paul. A very
pretty-night's work, and more profitable than preaching, I take it."

"Regarding the matter as a mere monetary question--"

"No gammon,--cut the cards," broke in Davis; "one game must finish us.
Now, shall we say double or quits?"

"If you really wish me to speak my candid mind, I 'd rather not."

"I thought as much," muttered Grog to himself; and then, in a louder
voice, "What shall it be then.--one-hundred and fifty? Come, even if you
should lose, you'll get up winner of a clean hundred."

"Would that it were at the expense of some one I love less!"

"Answer my question," said Davis, angrily. "Will you have a hundred and
fifty on the last game,--yes or no?"

"Yes, of course, Kit, if you desire it."

"Cut again; there is a faced card," said Davis. And now he dealt with
a slow deliberation that showed what an effort his forced composure was
costing him.

Classon sat back in his chair watching the cards as they fell from the
dealer's hand, but affecting in his half-closed eyes and folded arms the
air of one deep in his own musings.

"I will say this, Davis," said he, at last, with the slow u