"Ten thousand roubles of that money is in other men's pockets," and he named two who lived upon their earnings at the green table. "They're off to Ostend this evening."
"You're a damned fool," was his cousin's verdict.
"I know it. But who would gain by my being wise?"
Ian looked him straight in the eyes. Roman noticed how clear and honest they were, with their tale of outdoor life, their gaze of the man who has found himself and keeps his house in order. Yet there was nothing priggish about him. He enjoyed life thoroughly. It was not the life of champagne suppers and high stakes; but he took his pint of Veuve Clicquot and played his game, conformed to the customs of his class. The difference was that such pleasures were incidents for him; for Roman they had become necessities.
"You know perfectly well that your Prussian government and my Russian one like to see us Poles squander our lives and money," retorted the squire.
"They do," agreed the gambler.
Ian saw his chance and followed it up, speaking earnestly, his habitual shyness undermost for the moment.
"They like to get us off the land because that is the rock bottom of national existence," he said. "Lots of people forget it. England is forgetting it. Every time I go there I see it clearer. But Prussia hasn't forgotten it for a moment these last hundred years. And she's taught the Russians something about it, too."
"I never had any land," protested Roman. "Joe got it, and has kept it. I'll say that for him."
"You can buy land."