"In that case," replied my father, "Your troubles will be over, Jason. Pray rest assured—I shall attend to that. And then, when that is finished Brutus shall bring two other pistols, and Lawton and I shall draw again."
Mr. Lawton grasped the cards uncertainly.
"You give us the first two choices?" he demanded.
"The host naturally is last," said my father. "One must always be polite."
"Then you're mad," said Mr. Lawton bluntly. "Come, Shelton, step outside, and we'll finish it on the lawn."
"And I should undoubtedly kill you," said my father. "Pray do not tempt me, Lawton."
"I tell you, you're mad," said Mr. Lawton.
"I have been told that once before today," said my father. "And still I am not sure. I have often pictured this little scene, Lawton. We have only one thing to add to it. Now tell me if I'm mad."
My father had reached up to his throat, and was fumbling at his collar. When he drew away his hand, something glittered between his fingers. Silently he placed his closed fist on the table, opened it, and there was the gold locket which I had perceived in the morning. He pressed the spring, and the lid flew free. Mr. Lawton leaned forward, glanced at the picture inside, and then drew back very straight and pale.
"Come, Lawton," said my father gravely. "Which is it now—madness or an appeal for justice and retribution? With her picture on the table, Lawton, I have wondered—I have often wondered, Lawton—who will be the lucky man to draw the loaded pistol? Let us leave it there, where we can watch it before we fire. I have often thought that she would like it so. And now—" he nodded again and smiled,—"surely you will oblige me. Shuffle the cards, Lawton, and let the game go on."