ough for me."

"So?" murmured the barkeeper, languidly.

The copious drams made the Swede's eyes swim, and he breathed a trifle
heavier. "Yes, I like this weather. I like it. It suits me." It was
apparently his design to impart a deep significance to these words.

"So?" murmured the bartender again. He turned to gaze dreamily at the
scroll-like birds and bird-like scrolls which had been drawn with soap
upon the mirrors back of the bar.

"Well, I guess I'll take another drink," said the Swede, presently.
"Have something?"

"No, thanks; I'm not drinkin'," answered the bartender. Afterwards he
asked, "How did you hurt your face?"

The Swede immediately began to boast loudly. "Why, in a fight. I
thumped the soul out of a man down here at Scully's hotel."

The interest of the four men at the table was at last aroused.

"Who was it?" said one.

"Johnnie Scully," blustered the Swede. "Son of the man what runs it.
He will be pretty near dead for some weeks, I can tell you. I made a
nice thing of him, I did. He couldn't get up. They carried him in the
house. Have a drink?"

Instantly the men in some subtle way incased themselves in reserve.
"No, thanks," said one. The group was of curious formation. Two were
prominent local business men; one was the district-attorney; and one
was a professional gambler of the kind known as "square." But a
scrutiny of the group would not have enabled an observer to pick the
gambler from the men of more reputable pursuits. He was, in fact, a
man so delicate in manner, when among people of fair class, and so
judicious in his choice of victims, that in the strictly masculine
part of the town's life he had come to be explicitly trusted and
admired. People called him a thoroughbred. The fear and contempt with
which his craft was regarded was undoubtedly the reason that his quiet
dignity shone conspicuous above the quiet dignity of men who might be
merely hatters, billiard markers, or grocery-clerks. Beyond an
occasional unwary traveller, who came by rail, this gambler was
supposed to prey solely upon reckless and senile farmers, who, when
flush with good crops, drove into town in all the pride and confidence
of an absolutely invulnerable stupidity. Hearing at times in
circuitous fashion of the despoilment of such a farmer, the important
men of Romper invariably laughed in contempt of the victim, and, if
they thought of the wolf at all, it was with a kind of pride at the
knowledge that he