“We painted Boston crimson, Mose, on my word. I say, Kendall, how are the cards winning? I’m in with this play, old chap, win or lose. Partners——”
“What!”
The words broke involuntarily from Flood, with a look of sudden dismay, but the humpback hastened to cry:
“No, no, Mr. Royal, you’re not! Kendall went broke on your mutual play, I give you my word. You were not in with the last—you were asleep when he——”
“You lie! I am in with him!” Royal angrily interrupted. “Where has he gone? The devil take him, he treats me like a schoolboy. I say I was in with his play. Did he win? Tell me, did he win?”
Before Flood could respond, one of the players cried a bit derisively:
“No, I guess not, Harry! Only a cool ninety thousand!”
The face of Harry Royal grew dark as a thunder-cloud. He at once suspected that Kendall had proven false, and was bent upon cheating him of a part of the winnings, an idea somewhat warranted by the latter’s apparently secret departure. The possibility of thus being wronged seemed to arouse the very worst passions of which the intoxicated young man was capable. With a scream of rage, he darted to the couch and seized his hat.
“Ninety thousand—and I’ve heard him say he meant to jump the country!” he cried wildly. “I’ll have my share of it, Mose. Do you hear me—I was in with his play! He means to do me—curse him; but I know where to find him! I’ll have my half, or I’ll have his life!”
“Peace!” thundered Flood, with terrible sternness. “Do you know where you are and what you are saying?”