"The tin-horns are getting down to business," remarked the stranger.
"What are they playing?" asked George.
"Black Jack, the great game for the tenderfoot. It is so easily learned, so easy to cheat at, too; and these greenhorns will get robbed-blind."
"Their eyesight will be improved by the loss of their money," remarked John.
"A fool never learns," said the stranger.
They entered the smoking-room, and found Muggsley still holding forth, "Gentlemen, you just watch me and see how soon I get over these here mountains. It's experience that counts in this kind of work."
The man who had the cows, and he who was the proud possessor of the Klondike ice-locomotive were listening with some disdain; but the dozen other listeners were open-mouthed in envy and astonishment at wonderful Muggsley.
The three passed out on deck. The wind was chill, a frizzle was in the air, and the waves, breaking in dull phosphorescence against the bow of the ship, looked sickly and uncanny through the blackness. "A dangerous coast—the insurance rate for ships travelling this route is fifteen per cent.," remarked the stranger.
John Muggsley was still shaking his fist vociferously in the faces of his listeners as the party returned from deck to seek their beds.
"Good-night, you fellows. Glad I met you. My name's Hugh Spencer," the stranger said, as he settled in his cot.