Miller summoned him with a backward jerk of his head. "Morris, this kid's looking for a job—as dealer," said he.
"Dealer?" Best halted abruptly. "That's funny."
"What is funny about it?" demanded the girl. "My father was a gambler.
I'm Rouletta Kirby."
"Are you Sam Kirby's girl?" Miller inquired. When Rouletta nodded he removed his hat, then he extended his hand. "Shake," said he. "Now I've got you. You've had a hard time, haven't you? We heard about Sam and we thought you was dead. Step in here and set down." He motioned to the tiny little office which was curtained off from general view.
Rouletta declined with a smile. "I really want work as a dealer. That's the only thing I can do well. I came here first because you have a good reputation."
"Kirby's kid don't have to deal nothing. She's good for any kind of a stake on his name."
"Dad would be glad to hear that. He was a—great man. He ran straight." Rouletta's eyes had become misty at Miller's indirect tribute to her father; nevertheless, she summoned a smile and went on: "He never borrowed, and neither will I. If you can't put me to work I'll try somewhere else."
"How did you get down from White Horse?" Miller inquired, curiously.
"'Poleon Doret brought me."
"I know Doret. He's aces."