lvert
Shirley.

"My--my cousin, Miss Murdaugh." Vernon finished, adding desperately:
"Really, Willa, I'm sorry, but it's out of the question----"

"Vernie, have a heart! We'd all be delighted if Miss Murdaugh will
join us!" Winnie's eyes twinkled with mischief. "We're only playing a
ten-cent limit. Miss Murdaugh, if you're familiar with the game----"

"I'm on speaking terms with it," Willa nodded. "Ten-_dollar_ limit you
mean, don't you, Mr. North? I'm right here with you."

"Oh, I say!" Follinsbee blinked deprecatingly. "We couldn't allow a
lady to play such a stiff game with all of us----"

"Son," Willa admonished him, "I've bucked a game that hit the skies
more than once, so don't you worry about me. Who's banking?"

"Oh, all right, if you really want to," Vernon capitulated, in deadly
fear of further revelations. "Only keep mum about it or there'll be
the very deuce to pay."

Willa seated herself between "Pete" Follinsbee and "Art" Judson,
directly across the table from "Cal" Shirley, and the game recommenced.

Winnie Mason looked upon her advent as a huge joke, but the others were
plainly ill at ease, until a hand or two showed them that they were in
the presence of a sure and expert player.

If she realized their stupefaction at the unexpected materialization in
their midst of the mysterious and much heralded Miss Murdaugh she gave
no sign, but played conservatively, her eyes always upon the slim,
agile fingers of her vis-a-vis.

His deal came and passed without incident, but when the round of the
table had been made once more, and Vernon dealt, Cal Shirley again
refused to open and dropped out.

Willa, with a pair of aces, did likewise, and watched him gather up her
hand with his own and the other discards.

Vernon crowed triumphantly as he raked in the pot, but Willa scarcely
heard. One hand had flown to the violets at her belt, and she waited,
tense and motionless, until Shirley had shuffled and lifted the top
card to deal.

Then there came a sinuous, silken rustle; fingers like steel wires tore
the pack from his grasp and he found himself looking into the mouth of
a small but eminently practical revolver.

"Hands up, you yellow son of a Greaser!" Willa's voice rang out above
the amazed gasp which ran around the table. "I saw you running up the
hands before when you cleaned Mr. Follinsbee on four planted jacks.
That's why I eased myself into the game."

Shirley obeyed, with a si