“Good enough!” cried his host. “What shall it be this time–pinochle or crib?”
The foreman slowly closed his eyes as he replied: “Either suits me–this feed has made me plumb easy to please. Why, I’d even play casino to-night!”
“Well, what do you say to crib?” asked the sheriff. “You licked me so bad at it the last time you were here that I hanker to get revenge.”
“Well, I don’t blame you for wanting to get it, but I’ll tell you right now that you won’t, for I can lick the man that invented crib to-night,” laughed the foreman. “Bring out your cards.”
Shields placed the cards on the table and arranged things where they would be handy while his friend shuffled the pack.
The foreman pushed the cards toward his host: “There you are–low deals as usual, I suppose.”
“Oh, you might as well go ahead and deal,” grumbled the sheriff good-naturedly. “I don’t remember ever cutting low enough for you–by George! A five!”
Blake picked up the cards and started to deal, but the sheriff stopped him.
“Hey! You haven’t cut yet!” Shields cried, putting his hand on the cards. “What are you doing, anyhow?”
Blake laughed with delight: “Well, anybody that can’t cut lower than a five hadn’t ought to play the game. What’s the use of wasting time?”