It was the turn of the young man in white flannels to stare.
"He knows more poker in a minute than you do in a month," declared Mr. Davidson contemptuously. "He eats it! And as for being a crook—well, he happens to be the English representative of my own firm; that's all."
Rosalind enjoyed the discomfiture of the ex-captain of the Fifty-Fifty. "But, uncle, he—"
"Oh, shucks! You think he trimmed you at bridge, do you? All right; he did. I told him to!"
Billy Kellogg swallowed hard.
"That's what I brought him here for," said Uncle Henry. "You needed a lesson, and there was only one way to give it to you. I told him to come here and skin you alive. I wanted a good excuse to send you to work. I told him to trim you for a year's income if he could. And you did, didn't you, Morton?"
The Englishman shrugged in a bored way.
"It was strictly a matter of business between Morton and myself. You were to get your money back at the end of a year—if you behaved. Why, he told me it was as easy as taking a saucer of milk away from a blind kitten!"
Rosalind smiled and made a motion to attract the attention of Billy. She did not want him to miss the smile. He didn't.
"And now explain where you've been," commanded Uncle Henry.