Bivens bent low and whispered:
"The sweetest memory of my life is that I pulled a couple of millions of wool out of his hide in the recent panic. Jim, you love to hunt. You don't know what real sport is until you jump a skunk like that in a panic. You go all the way to Virginia to shoot ducks. When you get to my office in Wall Street I'll take you on a hunt you'll not forget. What's the use to waste your time for a whole day trying to kill a poor little duck when there are hundreds of big, fat, juicy animals like that roaming around loose in New York!"
"I see," Stuart laughed, "that's what you mean by the game."
"Surely, my boy,—it's the only game worth playing, this big red game of life and death with a two-footed human beast the quarry."
Bivens's little swarthy figure suddenly stiffened and his black eyes flashed. He looked up the stairs and a smile lighted his face.
"Now, Jim, here comes one into whose hide I know you'd enjoy putting a harpoon—a pillar of the church. Look at the cut of those solemn Presbyterian whiskers. It makes me faint to remember how many times I've tried and failed to get my hooks into him. I know you could land the deacon. I'd joyfully give you a million just to see him wriggle in my hands."
Bivens grasped his hand with pious unction.
"A glorious night, deacon. I know you won't stay for the ball, but if you'll do justice to the dinner I'll forgive you."
The deacon murmured his thanks and hurried on.
"It's evident that however much he loves the Lord he don't love you, Cal."