“All right, Mose,” laughed Chick, taking a chair. “Just as you wish.”
“What can I do for you, Flood?” inquired Nick.
The gambler cleared his throat before he replied, then said, with grave feeling:
“To begin with, Nick, despite that our vocations in life have been decidedly opposed, and mine not one to be proud of, we have never had any conflict that I can recall, and I feel rather justified in saying that we are fairly good friends.”
“Quite so, I’m sure,” said Nick simply.
“Well, I wish to state, Nick, that I have played my last card. Whatever the morrow has in store for me, whether good or ill, fortune or misfortune, I never again will gamble in any way as long as I live. I am done with it forever.”
Nick promptly extended his hand and took that of the speaker, giving it a grip that made Flood wince.
“I’m a thousand times more than glad to hear you say this, Mose,” he cried; “and I know that your word, when you give it thus, is as good as any government bond. I’m rejoiced to be the first to take your hand upon it; and, as far as friendship goes, Mose, you have no better friend in the world than Nick Carter.”
Flood’s outward composure, which was absolutely marvelous at times, remained as marked as when he sat dealing cards which made him nearly a hundred thousand dollars loser, for the sake of a girl’s happiness whose hand had been denied him, and to whose love he believed he had no earthly hope.
“I believe you, Nick,” said he gravely. “And I thank you.”