"If I am what Mr. Pendarvon has called the fortunate individual, it will be no woman I shall kill. I would sooner kill a thousand men. It is for that I joined the club."
But he was not the "fortunate individual." He drew a blank. He was shortsighted. He had to peer at it closely before he saw it was a blank.
"As the Colonel says--not yet. My time will come."
Poindexter sat by Rudini--the Honourable Jem. I always thought it was rather a shame to drag him in. He was only a boy, just out of his teens. He said nothing when he got the bag; he made up in eloquence of looks for paucity of words. There was a white, drawn look about his face which made him look as old as any one of us. He fumbled with the mouth of the bag, as though it was not large enough for him to get his hand in. When he did get one hand in, he dropped the bag from the other. Pendarvon laughed.
"Upon my word, you're shivering, Jem; is it with joy?"
The Honourable picked up the bag.
"What's it to do with you what I am shivering at?"
He stared at the card he drew. Then he gasped, "Thank God, it's blank!"
Pendarvon laughed again. I believe that the laughter which they say is heard in hell must sound like his.
"Why, Jem, one would almost think that you were glad."