, I believe. As I understand it, this final is
for fifteen pounds. Either you owe me thirty or we quit even?"

"That's it, chappie. Either we break even or I pay you thirty."

"Getting blooded, eh?" Grief remarked, drawing up a chair.

The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again
in bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely
running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity
was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped
and growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee
counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He
glowered speechlessly at his opponent.

"Looks like a lurch," said Grief.

"Which is double," said Peter Gee.

"There's no need your telling me," Deacon snarled. "I've studied
arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!"

The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was
an insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of
resentment.

"You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that
much," Deacon went on. "I could teach you cards."

The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money.

"There's a little game called casino--I wonder if you ever heard of
it?--a child's game."

"I've seen it played," the half-caste murmured gently.

"What's that?" snapped Deacon. "Maybe you think you can play it?"

"Oh, no, not for a moment. I'm afraid I haven't head enough for it."

"It's a bully game, casino," Grief broke in pleasantly. "I like it very
much."

Deacon ignored him.

"I'll play you ten quid a game--thirty-one points out," was the
challenge to Peter Gee. "And I'll show you how little you know about
cards. Come on! Where's a full deck?"

"No, thanks," the half-caste answered. "They are waiting for me in order
to make up a bridge set."

"Yes, come on," Eddy Little begged eagerly. "Come on, Peter, let's get
started."

"Afraid of a little game like casino," Deacon girded. "Maybe the stakes
are too high. I'll play you for pennies--or farthings, if you say so."

The man's conduct was a hurt and an affront to all of them. McMurtrey
could stand it no longer.

"Now hold on, Deacon. He says he doesn't want to play. Let him alone."

Deacon turned raging upon his host; but before he could blurt out his
abuse, Grief had stepped into the breach.

"I'd like to play casino with yo