A laugh went up at this, and all the group turned and looked at the big man with the mustache. But this individual went on fingering his cards without the twitch of an eyelid.
“So Finn has left town,” said Young Van, addressing his vis-a-vis.
“Yes,” Charlie replied humorously. “He had to see a man down to Paradise.”
“Who is that big man over there?”
“Him?” Charlie’s voice dropped. “Why, that’s him—Jack Flagg.”
“Did you tell me last night that he was a cook?”
Charlie nodded. “He’s won’erful—won’erful! I know ’im. I’ve been workin’—”
Young Van pushed back his chair and got up. For a moment he stood looking at the forbidding face and mighty frame of the man who was now the central figure in the room; then he crossed over and touched him on the shoulder. “How are you?” said he, painfully conscious, as every waking eye in the room was turned on him, that he did not know how to talk to these men.
Flagg looked up.