“Oh, sit down, Rance!” The interruption came from the Girl as she pushed him lightly out of her way; then, perching herself up on one end of the faro table, at which Johnson had taken a seat, she ventured:
“Say, Mr. Johnson, do you know what I think o’ you?”
Johnson eyed her uncertainly, while Rance’s eyes blazed as she blurted out:
“Well, I think you staked out a claim in a etiquette book.” And then before Johnson could answer her, she went on to say: “So you think you can play poker?”
“That’s my conviction,” Johnson told her, smilingly.
“Out o’ every fifty men who think they can play poker one ain’t mistaken,” was the Girl’s caustic observation. The next instant, however, she jumped down from the table and was back at her post, where, fearful lest he should think her wanting in hospitality, she proposed: “Try a cigar, Mr. Johnson?”
“Thank you,” he said, rising, and following her to the bar.
“Best in the house—my compliments.”
“You’re very kind,” said Johnson, taking the candle that she had lighted for him; then, when his cigar was going, and in a voice that was intended for her alone, he went on: “So you remember me?”
“If you remember me,” returned the Girl, likewise in a low tone.