The friends of old Gingles were in ecstacies, and carried him out of the room in triumph, but not before the old man had well-nigh filled his large pockets with his winnings.
Captain Jack was like a madman.
He raved and cursed and swore in the most frightful manner.
He called every one the hardest and the worst names he could think of, and wanted to fight anybody or everybody.
Alick was just as noisy.
He swore that he had been cheated, swindled, robbed, and whatever else his imagination could conjure up.
So noisy and turbulent was he, and “the noble captain,” that the gentlemen at last bundled them both out into the street.
There they stood out in the cold with drawn swords, and using the most dreadful language.
“Never mind,” said Alick, “we will best old Gingles yet.”
“What do you mean?”