Sam started, and inwardly cursed his stupidity in letting his game get away from him. The two men of which the bar-keeper spoke, were probably the very persons he wanted, so, in an indifferent tone, he inquired:
"What's her office hours?"
"Any time night or day I reckon. The two swells came out about 10, I guess. Maybe later."
"She don't throw on much style?"
"Don't she though. Silks ain't nothin' to her. She's a clipper when she agonizes."
Fearing, if he kept up the conversation much longer, that the bar-keeper would suspect his game, Sam called for another cigar, and picking up a deck of cards which lay on the table, suggested a game of "seven up." The bar-keeper seated himself with his back to the window, Sam still holding his post of survey.
The game was only just begun, when the fortune-teller, carrying a small bottle, apparently of medicine, returned and entered the door.
Sam's interest in the game died out shortly after, and patrons beginning to appear, the bar-keeper took his accustomed place behind the bar.
The room gradually filled up, and taking advantage of a little crowd near the door, Sam quietly slipped through the door and walked straight across to the fortune-teller's house.
As he entered, the inner door was opened and the dark woman herself appeared.