“There are Lockwoods in Richmond. No kin of yours, are they? No? Well, it’s not an uncommon name.”
The conversation turned, but Lockwood caught Hanna’s slightly puzzled expression turned upon him at intervals. Some chord of memory had been touched, if not fully sounded. The danger had perhaps been greater than he thought; but he felt it was past now; and he was not afraid of being severely catechised at any Southern dinner table.
For he was evidently the guest of honor to-night, and they watched over his welfare assiduously. Preserved figs, pie with whipped cream, and an ethereal sort of pudding finished the repast; and then Tom passed a box of cigars and one of cigarettes. The men drifted back to the front gallery to smoke, and Louise disappeared somewhere. It was dark and warm on the gallery now, and fragrant with honeysuckle. Lockwood found no enjoyment in the situation; he was afraid that Hanna would come over to talk to him, and when he had finished his cigar he spoke of leaving. At the camp he had to be out at daylight.
“Hold on,” Tom objected. “It ain’t late, and we-all are fixin’ to play a little poker to-night.”
“Well——” Lockwood hesitated.
“Mr. Lockwood’ll play or not, jest as he damn well likes,” said Henry effectively.
“Then I reckon I won’t play to-night,” said Lockwood, who had heard too many tall tales of the sort of poker played in this house. “I’ll watch you for a while, maybe.”
Shortly after this there was a halloo down the road, and they heard the soft trampling as the Fenway boys rode into the yard—a pair of brown-faced, handsome young giants, in careful black coats and collars, the sons of a well-to-do planter five miles back from the river, where the land was better. Thereupon the whole party, excepting the old man, returned to the dining room, where the table had been cleared.
Drinks were handed round, cards and chips produced. Lockwood declined a hand, but sat back and looked on with interest. It was no large game—a ten-cent ante and dollar limit—but from the first it was apparent that Tom Power was disposed to force the pace. He lost a hundred dollars in half an hour; then won a jack pot of sixty dollars, and began to regain, and to go ahead. Corn whisky was going now, and he was recklessly ready to make or break himself or anybody else.
But it was Hanna’s game that Lockwood watched most closely. He had a suspicion that Hanna was playing the card sharper in this house, winning great sums from the Powers, but he was forced to admit that he could see no indication of it to-night.