She disappeared up the staircase. The men remained silent for a moment or two. They were getting drowsy. Suddenly Lablache set his glass down and looked at his watch.
"Four o'clock, gentlemen. I suppose, Joe, there are no beds for us." The old farmer shook his head. "What say, John—Doc—a little game until breakfast?"
John Allandale's face lit up. His sobriquet was no idle One. He lived for poker—he loved it. And Lablache knew it. Old John turned to the others. His right cheek twitched as he waited the decision. "Doc" Abbot smiled approval; "Lord" Bill shrugged indifferently. The old gambler rose to his feet.
"That's all right, then. The kitchen table is good enough for us. Come along, gentlemen."
"I'll slide off to bed, I guess," said Norton, thankful to escape a night's vigil. "Good-night, gentlemen."
Then the remaining four sat down to play.
The far-reaching consequences of that game were undreamt of by the players, except, perhaps, by Lablache. His story of the reason of his return to Norton's farm was only partially true. He had returned in the hopes of this meeting; he had anticipated this game.
CHAPTER III - A BIG GAME OF POKER
"What about cards?" said Lablache, as the four men sat down to the table.