“You’re a fool.”
Stumpy stepped back a little. Long Mike faced the crowd and said with additional emphasis:
“You’re all fools.” Then he broke out with a roar of fury. “Will ye tell me where is that man Gallagher?” but no man dared make answer.
“In just about a minute, now,” said Joe Thorp in an undertone to his nearest neighbour, “there’ll be a ten-acre fight in this here barroom if nothin’ ain’t done to get the old man’s mind off’n Gallagher.”
“I reckon you’re about right,” replied Jim Hunnewell, “but there ain’t nobody here as cares about fightin’ ’cept him. An’ when he’s loaded, he’d a heap rather fight than do anything else, ’thouten it’s play poker.”
“That’s the idee,” exclaimed Thorp, struck with an inspiration. Then, raising his voice, he continued: “Who’ll play a game of poker? Speak up, quick, you chump,” he whispered, and Hunnewell spoke.
“I will,” he said, eagerly.
“And I,” “And I,” “And I,” said Baxter and Wilson and Cosgrove almost as quickly. They had caught the whispered words, and appreciated the emergency.
“Give us the chips, Sam,” called Thorp, bustling toward the card-table in the rear of the room. “Will you take a hand, Mike?” he added, carelessly, as the others followed him with more noise than seemed necessary.
Long Mike considered the matter for a moment, but, finding that he no longer held public attention, he wavered and then said: