"You said friends," was the significant answer.
"All right—all th' better. I seen you play a mighty good game o' cards."
Tex snorted. He could not restrain it. Was it possible Dave was aiming to milk him? "I'm allus willin' to back my play," he declared, drily.
"You won't have to back it. If yo 're as good as I hopes, I 'll back it. It's this way: I want to back you agin' a man as thinks he can play. He 's considerable of a dealer—considerable—an' he won't play me because he beats me once an' thinks I 'm no good. He 's got money, a-plenty, an' I don't want a dollar. You keeps what you wins—an' I wants you to get it all." He turned and called across the room: "Ike, flip us a new deck." The pack in his hands, he faced Tex again. "Suppose we plays a few hands an' you gimme a sample o' yore style."
Tex thrust his hands in his pockets and tipped back in his rickety chair. "Lemme get this right," he demanded. "You backs me to play, pockets th' losses, gives up th' winnin's, all to best th' other feller—on'y he must n't win."
"You got it."
"On'y he must n't win."
"That's what I said."
"Must be a friend o' yourn."
"Y-e-s," drawled Dave, with a sardonic smile.