"That's a great deal."
"Not when you come to play with men who know what play is. Look at Grossengrannel. I'd sooner bet on him than any man in London. Grossengrannel never forgets a card. I'll bet a hundred pounds that he knows the best card in every suit throughout the entire day's play. That's his secret. He gives his mind to it,—which I can't. Hang it! I'm always thinking of something quite different,—of what I'm going to eat, or that sort of thing. Grossengrannel is always looking at the cards, and he wins the odd rubber out of every eleven by his attention. Shall we have a game of piquet?"
Now on the moment, in spite of all that he had felt during the entire day, in the teeth of all his longings, in opposition to all his thirst, Mountjoy for a minute or two did think that he could rise and go. His father was about to put him on his legs again,—if only he would abstain. But Vignolles had the card-table open, with clean packs, and chairs at the corners, before he could decide. "What is it to be? Twos on the game I suppose." But Mountjoy would not play piquet. He named ecarte, and asked that it might be only ten shillings a game. It was many months now since he had played a game of ecarte. "Oh, hang it!" said Vignolles, still holding the pack in his hands. When thus appealed to Mountjoy relented, and agreed that a pound should be staked on each game. When they had played seven games Vignolles had won but one pound, and expressed an opinion that that kind of thing wouldn't suit them at all. "School-girls would do better," he said. Then Mountjoy pushed back his chair as though to go, when the door opened and Major Moody entered the room. "Now we'll have a rubber at dummy," said Captain Vignolles.
Major Moody was a gray-headed old man of about sixty, who played his cards with great attention, and never spoke a word,—either then or at any other period of his life. He was the most taciturn of men, and was known not at all to any of his companions. It was rumored of him that he had a wife at home, whom he kept in moderate comfort on his winnings. It seemed to be the sole desire of his heart to play with reckless, foolish young men, who up to a certain point did not care what they lost. He was popular, as being always ready to oblige every one, and, as was frequently said of him, was the very soul of honor. He certainly got no amusement from the play, working at it very hard,—and very constantly. No one ever saw him anywhere but at the club. At eight o'clock he went home to dinner, let us hope to the wife of his bosom, and at eleven he returned, and remained as long as there were men to play with. A tedious and unsatisfactory life he had, and it would have been well for him could his friends have procured on his behoof the comparative ease of a stool in a counting-house. But, as no such Elysium was opened to him, the major went on accepting the smaller profits and the harder work of club life. In what regiment he had been a major no one knew or cared to inquire. He had been received as Major Moody for twenty years or more, and twenty years is surely time enough to settle a man's claim to a majority without reference to the Army List.
"How are you, Major Moody?" asked Mountjoy.
"Not much to boast of. I hope you're pretty well, Captain Scarborough." Beyond that there was no word of salutation, and no reference to Mountjoy's wonderful absence.
"What's it to be:—twos and tens?" said Captain Vignolles, arranging the cards and the chairs.
"Not for me," said Mountjoy, who seemed to have been enveloped by a most unusual prudence.
"What! are you afraid,—you who used to fear neither man nor devil?"
"There is so much in not being accustomed to it," said Mountjoy. "I haven't played a game of whist since I don't knew when."