rticipation in what he
discreetly alluded to as "the wars," he had rendered some slight
assistance to the builders of the Panama Canal as stoker on an
excavator, he had worked in a felt-hat factory in Newark, New Jersey; he
had been a waiter in a Greek cafe near Franklin Square, New York; he had
held the position of clerk in the warehouse of a Turkish tobacco
importer in London; and he had also been an assistant purser in one of
the Roumanian Lloyd mail steamers which used to run from Costanza to
Alexandria. He was one of those people who, as the saying is, "could
write a book," which means they can do or have done almost everything
except write a book. Such people are rarely of a literary turn. Mr.
Dainopoulos certainly was not. But he had one faculty which, if literary
people only knew it, is of use even in literature. He could size a man
up. By a natural turn of judgment, so necessary to success in his
business as a "general merchant and exporter" coupled with ceaseless
practice, he had acquired a skill in sizing up which seemed as
effortless and intuitive as the driving of a fine golfer or the
wrist-work of a professional billiard player. The London School of
Mnemonics could teach Mr. Dainopoulos nothing about practical
psychology. He might even have given them some useful hints. In the
present instance he was not at a loss. He waited, however, for Mr.
Spokesly to make some comment.

"That's right enough," said the latter, leaning forward and smiling.
"But I'd have to know a little more of the game, you understand? There's
a war on, you know. Can't be too careful."

"True," assented Mr. Dainopoulos reflectively and keeping his prominent
eyes fixed upon Mr. Spokesly. "You do not wish, then, to take a chance?"

"Oh, a _chance_!" Mr. Spokesly achieved a certain irony as he emphasized
the last word. "Your ideas of a chance and mine might be different.
S'pose we have another drink."

The watchful Herakles came near as Mr. Spokesly lifted his hand, and
took the order.

The fact was--and it may be presumed that Mr. Dainopoulos perceived it
sufficiently well to make allowance for it--that Mr. Spokesly, as he sat
beside Archy Bates and listened to the conversation, had experienced a
sudden access of caution. Archy was not drunk, and as far as was humanly
known, never would be really drunk; but he was sufficiently saturated to
raise a certain distrust in the mind of a perfectly sober man. It may
even be said that while