"CAPTAIN JACK."

So great was her interest in the affair that Blix even went out with
Condy while he mailed the letters in the nearest box, for he was quite
capable of forgetting the whole matter as soon as he was out of the
house.

"Now let it work!" she exclaimed as the iron flap clanked down upon the
disappearing envelopes. But Condy was suddenly smitten with nameless
misgiving. "Now we've done it! now we've done it!" he cried aghast.
"I wish we hadn't. We're in a fine fix now."

Still uneasy, he saw Blix back to the flat, and bade her good-by at the
door.

But before she went to bed that night, Blix sought out her father, who
was still sitting up tinkering with the cuckoo clock, which he had
taken all to pieces under the pretext that it was out of order and went
too fast.

"Papum," said Blix, sitting down on the rug before him, "did you
ever--when you were a pioneer, when you first came out here in the
fifties--did you ever play poker?"

"I--oh, well! it was the only amusement the miners had for a long time."

"I want you to teach me."

The old man let the clock fall into his lap and stared. But Blix
explained her reasons.

Chapter VI

The next day was Saturday, and Blix had planned a walk out to the
Presidio. But at breakfast, while she was debating whether she should
take with her Howard and Snooky, or "Many Inventions," she received a
note from Condy, sent by special messenger:

"'All our fun is spoiled,' he wrote. 'I've got ptomaine poisoning from
eating the creamed oysters last night, and am in for a solid fortnight
spent in bed. Have passed a horrible night. Can't you look in at the
hotel this afternoon? My mother will be here at the time.'"

"Ptomaine poisoning!" The name had an ugly sound, and Condy's use of
the term inferred the doctor's visit. Blix decided that she would put
off her walk until the afternoon, and call on Mrs. Rivers at once, and
ask how Condy did.

She got away from the flat about ten o'clock, but on the steps outside
met Condy dressed as if for bicycling, and smoking a cigarette.

"I've got eleven dollars!" he announced cheerily.

"But I thought it was ptomaine poisoning!" she cried with sudden
vexation.

"Pshaw! that's what the doctor says. He's a flapdoodle; nothing but a
kind of a sort of a pain. It's all gone now. I'm as fit as a
fiddle--and I've got eleven dollars. Let's go somewhere and do
something."

"But your work?"

"Th