'Hold it down, Dave!' cried the Captain. 'Five cent ante, boys.'
The amber-coloured liquor gurgled pleasantly from the bottle neck and splashed into the Factor's glass. His eyes shone as he gathered up the five cards. 'We'll have our little jamboree well as them over the way, I reckon.'
'Quit it, Alf,' said the Captain; 'I'm religious, mind. No blasphemy here.'
McAuliffe laughed thickly into his glass. 'You're all right, Captain. Mind how you won twenty dollars off me one Sunday, just before starting for church? Reckon your religion wouldn't drag you from this bottle over to yon service, eh?'
Plang!
'I'll raise you, Dave. That's nothing to do with it, Alf; I'm religious when—when—'
'You're sick, eh?'
'There's a time for everything,' said the Captain, with the solemnity that was liquor induced. 'I'm religious at the proper time, mind you, just at the proper time. Other times I'm gay.'
'This is the gay time. Captain. You're a great lad! It's your pot. Ante up, Dave.'
'Reckon it's time the bottle passed this side,' said the latter.