“But you mustn't tell me that,” I protested. “I can't have you making trouble on this ship, too. How do you know I won't go straight from here to the captain?”
As though the suggestion greatly entertained him, he laughed.
He made a mock obeisance.
“I claim the seal of your profession,” he said. “Nonsense,” I retorted. “It's a professional secret that your nerves are out of hand, but that you are a card-sharp is NOT. Don't mix me up with a priest.”
For a moment Talbot, as though fearing he had gone too far, looked at me sharply; he bit his lower lip and frowned.
“I got to make expenses,” he muttered. “And, besides, all card games are games of chance, and a card-sharp is one of the chances. Anyway,” he repeated, as though disposing of all argument, “I got to make expenses.”
After dinner, when I came to the smoking-room, the poker party sat waiting, and one of them asked if I knew where they could find “my friend.” I should have said then that Talbot was a steamer acquaintance only; but I hate a row, and I let the chance pass.
“We want to give him his revenge,” one of them volunteered.
“He's losing, then?” I asked.
The man chuckled complacently.