I answered him that I did not wish to appear churlish, but that I should most certainly appear so if I fell asleep while we talked, which, in spite of myself, I was very likely to do.
"But I have a bottle of salts here," said he, with a laugh, as he reached out of bed and fumbled with his coat. "I have a bottle of salts here which will infallibly persuade you from any thought of sleep," and he drew out from the pocket of his coat a pack of cards. "Well, what do you say?" he continued, as I did not move.
"It is some while since I handled a card," said I slowly.
"A game of picquet," he suggested.
"It is a good game," said I.
He flipped the edges of the cards with his thumb. I drew nearer to the bed.
"Well, one game then," said I.
"To be sure," said he, shuffling the cards.
"And the stakes must be low."
"I hate a gambler myself."