"I'm glad to make your acquaintance. I'm Maj. Allston, and well known in this town."
The major might have added that he was too well known to be trusted, for, though a smart, clever man, he made a scanty and precarious living by his wits.
"See here, major," said Smithers, "I'm a stranger, and not posted. You can call me Smithers. I've got a few hundred dollars and the goods in the wagon. My intention was to open a corner grocery to get a living."
"Won't do; there are too many of them. I'll tell you what to do, and you can bet your life that I know this community better than you," said the major.
"I guess you ought to."
"You take me into partnership, and we'll run a game. The boys round here are all gamblers, and there are three games in full blast every night, all making money—dead piles of it—and no skin at that. Sail right in with me. I know all the boys, and I can work the racket."
"But where's your share of the capital?"
Maj. Allston touched his forehead.
"Here," he said. "I've talent and experience. That's worth all the money you can put into the concern. Is it a go?"
Desperate and callous as he was, Smithers did not care much what he did; he fancied that running a faro bank was an easy business, and less tiresome than working hard all day behind the counter of a store.