“Don’t mind them, Mr. Croyden,” she said. “They really know better, but this is the silly season, I suppose. They have much to learn, too—much to learn, indeed.” She turned to Miss Carrington. “I was explaining a few things about the game to Mr. Croyden, Davila, the rule of eleven and the Ace-King lead, and, for some reason, it seemed to move them to jollity.”
“I’m astonished!” exclaimed Miss Carrington, her violet eyes gleaming with suppressed mirth.
“I hope Mr. Croyden does not think we were laughing at him!” cried Miss Tilghman.
“Of course not!” returned Croyden solemnly, “and, if you were, my stupidity quite justified it, I’m sure. If Miss Erskine will only bear with me, I’ll try to learn—Bully thing, that rule of eleven!” 85
It was now Croyden’s deal and the score, games all—Miss Erskine having made thirty-six on hers, and Dangerfield having added enough to Miss Tilghman’s twenty-eight to, also, give them game.
“How cleverly you deal the cards,” Miss Erskine remarked. “You’re particularly nimble in the fingers.”
“I acquired it dealing faro,” Croyden returned, innocently.
“Faro!” exclaimed Miss Carrington, choking back a laugh. “What is faro?”
“A game about which you should know nothing, my dear,” Miss Erskine interposed. “Faro is played only in gambling hells and mining camps.”
“And in some of the Clubs in New York,” Croyden added—at which Miss Tilghman’s mirth burst out afresh. “That’s where I learned to copper the ace or to play it open.—I’ll make it no trumps.”