Uncle Billy's heart bounded at his partner's jealousy. “No—but I MUST, you know,” he returned, with a faint laugh.
“I say—it ain't a HER, is it?” said Uncle Jim.
Uncle Billy achieved a diabolical wink and a creditable blush at his lie.
“Billy?”
“Jim!”
And under cover of this festive gallantry Uncle Billy escaped. He ran through the gathering darkness, and toiled up the shifting sands to the top of the hill, where he found the carriage waiting.
“Wot,” said Uncle Billy in a low confidential tone to the coachman, “wot do you 'Frisco fellers allow to be the best, biggest, and riskiest gamblin'-saloon here? Suthin' high-toned, you know?”
The negro grinned. It was the usual case of the extravagant spendthrift miner, though perhaps he had expected a different question and order.
“Dey is de 'Polka,' de 'El Dorado,' and de 'Arcade' saloon, boss,” he said, flicking his whip meditatively. “Most gents from de mines prefer de 'Polka,' for dey is dancing wid de gals frown in. But de real prima facie place for gents who go for buckin' agin de tiger and straight-out gamblin' is de 'Arcade.'”
“Drive there like thunder!” said Uncle Billy, leaping into the carriage.