The night being warm, there was a large screen drawn across the room, for a barrier against the heat of the fire. It seemed as if somebody on the other side of this screen had been insinuating doubts of Mr Groves’s prowess, and had thereby given rise to these egotistical expressions, for Mr Groves wound up his defiance by giving a loud knock upon it with his knuckles and pausing for a reply from the other side.
‘There an’t many men,’ said Mr Groves, no answer being returned, ‘who would ventur’ to cross Jem Groves under his own roof. There’s only one man, I know, that has nerve enough for that, and that man’s not a hundred mile from here neither. But he’s worth a dozen men, and I let him say of me whatever he likes in consequence—he knows that.’
In return for this complimentary address, a very gruff hoarse voice bade Mr Groves ‘hold his noise and light a candle.’ And the same voice remarked that the same gentleman ‘needn’t waste his breath in brag, for most people knew pretty well what sort of stuff he was made of.’
‘Nell, they’re—they’re playing cards,’ whispered the old man, suddenly interested. ‘Don’t you hear them?’
‘Look sharp with that candle,’ said the voice; ‘it’s as much as I can do to see the pips on the cards as it is; and get this shutter closed as quick as you can, will you? Your beer will be the worse for to-night’s thunder I expect.—Game! Seven-and-sixpence to me, old Isaac. Hand over.’
‘Do you hear, Nell, do you hear them?’ whispered the old man again, with increased earnestness, as the money chinked upon the table.
‘I haven’t seen such a storm as this,’ said a sharp cracked voice of most disagreeable quality, when a tremendous peal of thunder had died away, ‘since the night when old Luke Withers won thirteen times running on the red. We all said he had the Devil’s luck and his own, and as it was the kind of night for the Devil to be out and busy, I suppose he was looking over his shoulder, if anybody could have seen him.’
‘Ah!’ returned the gruff voice; ‘for all old Luke’s winning through thick and thin of late years, I remember the time when he was the unluckiest and unfortunatest of men. He never took a dice-box in his hand, or held a card, but he was plucked, pigeoned, and cleaned out completely.’
‘Do you hear what he says?’ whispered the old man. ‘Do you hear that, Nell?’
The child saw with astonishment and alarm that his whole appearance had undergone a complete change. His face was flushed and eager, his eyes were strained, his teeth set, his breath came short and thick, and the hand he laid upon her arm trembled so violently that she shook beneath its grasp.