He shut his eyes and poured the liquor into his mouth, gulped fiercely, desperately, almost strangling.
Said Stiffy: "Tell you what let's do. Let's get into a game."
Meek opened his mouth to accept the invitation, then closed it, caution stealing over him. After all, he didn't know much about this place. Maybe he'd better go a little easy, at least at first.
He shook his head. "No, I'm not very good at cards. Just a few games of penny-ante now and then."
Stiffy looked his disbelief. "Penny ante," he said, then guffawed as if he sensed humor in what Meek had said. "Say, you're good," he roared. "Don't s'pose you can use them lightnin' throwers of yours either."
"Some," admitted Meek. "Practiced in front of a looking glass a little."
He wondered why Stiffy rolled in his chair with mirth until tears ran down into his whiskers.
Stiffy held a full house ... aces with kings ... and his eyes had the look of a cat stalking a saucer full of cream.
There were only two in the game, Stiffy and an oily gentleman called Luke. As the stakes mounted and the game grew hotter the others at the table dropped out.