“Good-evening. You’re the new local editor, I take it. I’ve just left a little item for Murren, I suppose he’s not in from the wrestle yet. My name’s Hammerly. All the boys know me and I’ve known in my time fourteen of your predecessors, so I may as well know you. You’re from Pittsburg, I hear.”
“Yes. Sit down, Mr. Hammerly. Do you know Pittsburg at all?”
“Oh, yes. Borden, who keeps the gambling den on X street, is an old friend of mine. Do you happen to know how old Borden’s getting along?”
“Yes, his place was raided and closed up by the police.”
“That’s just the old man’s luck. Same thing in Kansas City.”
“By the way, Mr. Hammerly, do you know of any gambling houses in this city?”
“Why, bless you, haven’t the boys taken you round yet? Well, now, that’s inhospitable. Mellish’s is the best place in town. I’m going up there now. If you come along with me I’ll give you the knock-down at the door and you’ll have no trouble after that.”
“I’ll go with you,” said McCrasky, reaching for his hat, and so the innocent Hammerly led the lamb into the lion’s den.
McCrasky, unaccustomed to the sight, was somewhat bewildered with the rapidity of the play. There was a sort of semicircular table, around the outside rim of which were sitting as many men as could be comfortably placed there. A man at the inside of the table handled the cards. He flicked out one to each player, face downward, with an expertness and speed that dazzled McCrasky. Next he dealt out one to each player face upward and people put sums of money on the table beside their cards, after looking at them. There was another deal and so on, but the stranger found it impossible to understand or follow the game. He saw money being raked in and paid out rapidly and over the whole affair was a solemn decorum that he had not been prepared for. He had expected fierce oaths and the drawing of revolvers.
“Here, Mellish,” said the innocent Hammerly, “let me introduce you to the new local editor of the Argus. I didn’t catch your name,” he said in a whisper.