"Four little twos!" he muttered. "And you had four knaves and he had four aces. I guess there's a special Providence looking out for me. Say, what won that pot, anyway?"
Farrer suddenly reappeared at the door.
"Here's your money, gentlemen," he remarked, counting the chips in front of each of them and throwing down the appropriate number of bills. "Sorry to have the game broken up in such a way, but these sharps get in everywhere. I hope you won't mention the incident. I have a very fine line of patrons and nothing of the kind has ever occurred before."
As he turned away Steadman raised his eyes and looked the gambler full in the face.
"Farrer," said he, "you've robbed me—you and your gang. Some time I'll make you pay for it, you—thief!" Then the fire died as suddenly as it had come, his head dropped forward listlessly, his eyes rolled ceiling-ward, and he fell to mumbling and muttering to himself. Ralston sprang to his side, as Farrer slid through the door.
"I'm Dick Ralston," he said. "Don't you recognize me?"
Steadman gazed at him stolidly.
"Rals'on?" he muttered. "Rals'on? So you are! I guess you are. Why not? What of it?"
He put his head on his arms and leaned them against the table top.
Ralston grasped him by the shoulder and shook him roughly.