en
root in a forest of belted earls and lisping aristocrats. But it stopped
at that. A retired "cowboy" was all very well in a club. If he chose to
take up "gun-throwing" or garrotting, there was always a score or two of
hefty servants to deal with him; but in a man's home, with wives and
daughters present, well----! So Jim's meteoric social ascent went no
farther than that. Even Cholmondeley, who was his eternal debtor, never
took him to house parties. Jim had introspection enough to see the
barrier.

It was towards the end of winter that Jim created a commotion which was
nearly the cause of his being "blackballed." But for the intervention of
his considerable circle of admirers, who believed his action to be
justified, and threatened to resign _en bloc_ if the matter were not
quashed, Jim would have shaken the dust of the Huntingdon from his feet.

It was in the afternoon, and a trio of men were seeking for a fourth to
make up a card party. Seeing Jim lounging on a settee they invited him to
join in. He rather reluctantly assented, for one of the players was
Meredith, a man he disliked intensely, which dislike was thoroughly
reciprocated.

They played all the afternoon, and Meredith won steadily. He talked a lot
about his abnormal luck, but one man present seemed to be constantly on
the fidget. Jim had been weaned on cards in a place where gambling was the
salt of life, and "tinhorns" were as plentiful as mosquitoes in summer. He
kept his eyes on the slim, nimble hands of Meredith, and what he saw did
not please him.

Meredith was in the middle of a deal when Jim suddenly flung his cards
across the table and stood up.

"I'm through with this," he growled.

The other players gasped, and Meredith's brow contracted. By this time the
room was full of members lounging and talking before dinner. The tone of
Jim's voice suggested that something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" asked one of the players.

"I don't like the deal."

Meredith leaped from his chair.

"Do you dare insinuate...."

"I don't insinuate nothin'. I jest ain't playin' this hand."

Claude came behind him.

"Careful, Jim," he whispered. "You are making a very serious accusation."

Meredith came across and stood within a foot of Jim's taut face.

"Mr. Conlan," he said, "I am waiting for an explanation."

"Where I come from," said Jim grimly, "men who slip cards that way are
lynched on the nearest tree."

A gasp came from the company. Ne