“Not at all, not at all,” said the genial Benjamin.
“If you’re meanin’ me”—the digger glanced at the company generally—“all I’ve got to say is: the man as increases the stakes is welcome.”
They threw, and the digger won.
“That’s the style,” said he, as he took the pool. “That’s just as it oughter be. I shout for the crowd. Name your poisons, gentlemen.” He rang the bell, and Gentle Annie appeared, radiant, and supreme. She held a small tray in one hand, whilst the other, white and shapely, hung at her side. As the men named their liquors, she carefully repeated what they had ordered. When Carnac’s turn came, and she said, “And yours?” the handsome gambler stretched out his arm, and, drawing her in a familiar manner towards him, said, “You see, boys, I know what’s better than any liquor.”
In a moment Gentle Annie had pulled herself free, and was standing off from the sinister-faced man.
“Phaugh!” she said with disgust, “I draw the line at spielers.”
“You draw the line at nothing that’s got money,” retorted the owner of the glittering eyes, brutally.
“Gentlemen,” said Gentle Annie, with a touch of real dignity in her manner, “I have your orders.” And she withdrew modestly, without so much as another glance at Carnac.
The play continued till her return. She handed round glasses to all but the handsome gambler.
“And where’s mine?” asked he.