He lifted high his cup.
“We drink to the Almighty Dollar!”
“To the Almighty Dollar!” Nance echoed, clinking her cup against his.
He drained it while she again emptied hers over her shoulder.
“By golly, you're all right, old girl. You're a good fellow!” he cried jovially.
“Yeah—have another?” she urged.
She filled his cup and placed it on his side of the table. His eye had rested on the gold. He ignored the invitation, lifted a handful of gold and dropped it with musical clinking into the plate.
“Blood marks—tommyrot!” he sneered.
“Yeah—tommyrot!” she echoed. “That's what I say, too!”
Jim wagged his head sagely: