“My corner lot against double the shares?” Jowett asked sharply, his face flushed with eager pleasure. He was a born gambler.
“As you like,” answered Ingolby with a smile. Ingolby tossed, and they stooped over to look at the dollar on the floor. It had come up heads. “You win,” said Ingolby, and turning to the table, took out another hundred shares. In a moment they were handed over.
“You’re a wonder, Jowett,” he said. “You risked a lot of money. Are you satisfied?”
“You bet, Chief. I come by these shares honestly now.”
He picked up the silver dollar from the floor, and was about to put it in his pocket.
“Wait—that’s my dollar,” said Ingolby.
“By gracious, so it is!” said Jowett, and handed it over reluctantly.
Ingolby pocketed it with satisfaction.
Neither dwelt on the humour of the situation. They were only concerned for the rules of the game, and both were gamesters in their way.
After a few brief instructions to Jowett, and a message for Osterhaut concerning a suit of workman’s clothes, Ingolby left his offices and walked down the main street of the town with his normal rapidity, responding cheerfully to the passers-by, but not encouraging evident desire for talk with him. Men half-started forward to him, but he held them back with a restraining eye. They knew his ways. He was responsive in a brusque, inquisitive, but good-humoured and sometimes very droll way; but there were times when men said to themselves that he was to be left alone; and he was so much master of the place that, as Osterhaut and Jowett frequently remarked, “What he says goes!” It went even with those whom he had passed in the race of power.