It was towards the end of winter that Jim created a commotion which was nearly the cause of his being “blackballed.” But for the intervention of his considerable circle of admirers, who believed his action to be justified, and threatened to resign en bloc if the matter were not quashed, Jim would have shaken the dust of the Huntingdon from his feet.
It was in the afternoon, and a trio of men were seeking for a fourth to make up a card party. Seeing Jim lounging on a settee they invited him to join in. He rather reluctantly assented, for one of the players was Meredith, a man he disliked 45 intensely, which dislike was thoroughly reciprocated.
They played all the afternoon, and Meredith won steadily. He talked a lot about his abnormal luck, but one man present seemed to be constantly on the fidget. Jim had been weaned on cards in a place where gambling was the salt of life, and “tinhorns” were as plentiful as mosquitoes in summer. He kept his eyes on the slim, nimble hands of Meredith, and what he saw did not please him.
Meredith was in the middle of a deal when Jim suddenly flung his cards across the table and stood up.
“I’m through with this,” he growled.
The other players gasped, and Meredith’s brow contracted. By this time the room was full of members lounging and talking before dinner. The tone of Jim’s voice suggested that something was wrong.
“What’s the matter?” asked one of the players.
“I don’t like the deal.”
Meredith leaped from his chair.