"And if he's dying of thirst, Suggs—what then?" some one broke in.
"Of course the jury saw it that way. I made it so plain to them they had to. Now, I've a theory—"
"Joel, I want you to meet Mr. Morancy. He's our national hero in this part of the world. D'you ever hear of him in Boston—the fellow who won fifty thousand dollars in one poker game!"
Joel found himself shaking hands with a florid faced man with iron grey hair. Beneath the shade of a broad brimmed felt hat, the calm features gave no clue to such an extravagant reputation.
"But it occurred on a Mississippi River steamboat, Mr. Talbot." Mr. Morancy laughed, as he shook hands.
"He wants to give you the impression that it was an accident," Colonel Andrews put in, "but it was as premeditated as the fellow who had waited for a Royal Flush."
"Tell us, Colonel! Sh'h! The Colonel's on for a story!" came from the crowd.
The old fellow threw back his shoulders and swelled portentously.
"Gentlemen," he said, in his rolling, grandiloquent style, "I never tell that story except when there is a chance for me to hold what that fellow had waited for."
It was a signal for the crowd to move to the club room just back of the bar. There, three cloth-covered tables were placed in the centre of the room. About one, several men were already hard at it, the sound of the chips, the boisterous laughter and oaths telling that the game was at its height.