Davis drew near the table, and taking up the cards began to shuffle them slowly, like one seeking some excuse for a moment of uninterrupted reflection. “I've found out the way that Yankee fellow does the king,” said he, at last. “It's not the common bridge that everybody knows. It's a Mississippi touch, and a very neat one. Cut them now wherever you like.”
Beecher cut the cards with all due care, and leaned eagerly over the table.
“King of diamonds!” cried Grog, slapping the card on the board.
“Do it again,” said Beecher, admiringly; and once more Davis performed the dexterous feat.
“It's a nick!” cried Beecher, examining the edge of the card minutely.
“It ain't no such thing!” said Davis, angrily. “I'd give you ten years to find it out, and twenty to do it, and-you 'd fail in both.”
“Let's see the dodge, Grog,” said Beecher, half-coaxingly.
“You don't see my hand till you put yours on the table,” said Davis, fiercely. Then crossing his arms before him, and fixing his red fiery eyes on Beecher's face, he went on, “What do you mean by this fencing—just tell me what you mean by it?”
“I don't understand you,” said Beecher, whose features were now of ashy paleness.
“Then you shall understand me!” cried Davis, with an oath. “Do you want me to believe that Dunn had you to dine with him all alone, just to talk about politics, of which you know nothing, or books, of which you know less; that he 'd give you four precious hours of a Sunday evening to bear your opinions about men or women or things in general? Do you ask me to swallow that, sir?”