“What’s to be done?” asked Bill, as the person chiefly responsible for the embarrassing situation.
“Bury the woman and keep the child here,” said a man. “We’ve as much right to her as that blamed Dog’s Ear. What do they want with an orphan? They can’t keep themselves, the blanked one-hoss place!”
“That’s all very well,” said Bill, shaking his head gravely; “but who’s to take the responsibility? She can’t belong to all of yer!”
“I’ll take her!” said one.
“Let me have her!” cried another.
A babel of voices arose. At first shamefacedly, and then openly, not to say defiantly, a score of men offered to adopt the nameless child.
Varley Howard alone remained silent. He leaned back in his chair, shuffling the cards with his white, womanish hand. At last, when the hubbub had somewhat subsided, he said in his most languid and indifferent manner:
“You can’t all have her. Some of you wouldn’t know what to do with her if you got her. Let six of you come round the table here; the man who gets the highest cards in the pack takes her.”
He looked round the group and selected six men by name.