It was Bowlder's deal. He riffled the cards with the deftness of one who plays often and well.
“Bound to settle it this time!” said the burglar. “The score stands 6 to 4. You bet your life! I'll stand on the bare jack if I get it.”
Bowlder threw the cards around and turned trump with a snap. It was the jack of clubs.
The burglar looked at it wistfully, even sadly.
“That's square, is it?” he said to Bowlder in a tone of half reproach. “You ain't the party to go and turn a jack on a poor crook from the bottom of the deck, and you only one to go?”
Bowlder assured him the transaction was perfectly honest.
“Yes, I guess it was,” said the burglar, rising. “I was watching you, and I guess it was straight. It's just my luck, that's all. Well! I must go; it's getting along towards 4: 30 o'clock.”
“Have a drink!” said Bowlder, “and take another cigar!”
The cracksman took a drink. Then he selected a cigar from Bowlder's proffered case.
“If it's all the same to youse,” said the burglar, “I'll smoke this later on—after breakfast.” And he put the cigar in his pocket.