“Because if you did complain, and were not satisfied, I’d make a change, you know.”
“Don’t trouble the women for my sake,” said the Colonel gruffly. “Look here, Barclay, how would you play this hand?”
He took up the cards as he spoke, shuffled them with an easy, graceful movement, the pieces of pasteboard flying rapidly through his hands, before dealing them lightly out upon the table, face upwards, and selecting four thirteens.
“Now,” he said, “look here. Your partner holds two trumps—six, nine; your adversaries right and left have knave and ace; B on your right leads trumps—what would you do?”
Barclay knit his brow and took the Colonel’s hand, gazing from one to the other thoughtfully, and then, without a word, played the hand, the Colonel selecting those cards that would be played by the others till the hand was half through, when Barclay hesitated for a moment, and then seemed to throw away a trick.
“Why did you do that?” said the Colonel sharply.
“Because by losing that I should get the next two.”
“Exactly!” cried the Colonel with his eyes flashing. “That endorses my opinion. Barclay, I shan’t play against you if I can help myself. Money-lending seems to sharpen the wits wonderfully. What a clever old fox you are!”
“One’s obliged to be clever now a days, Colonel, if one wants to get on. Well, I must go. I have to see your neighbours. Rents are very bad to get in.”
“I suppose so,” said the Colonel drily. “Good-morning.”