“Yes, they hover around there.”

“I like you, young fellow.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, I do.”

“So you said.”

“You’re honest; I like an honest young fellow every time.  Are you an orphan?”

“A half orphan.”

“Your mother dead?”

“No, my father.”

“Well, I am just the other way—­my mother is dead and my dad, he is away up.  They say he is a great man.  I reckon he is, but I am no shakes; you see I care more for fun than lands.  Now, see here; I’ll teach you some tricks.  Would you like to learn?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Good enough, and when you get back to York you can punish some of those sharps there, for my occupation is gone out here; they won’t let me play against them or I’d beat them every time—­yes, I beat their game and then give the money away to some poor person who needs it; but they don’t know you, and before we get to the end of the route some of those fellows may get aboard, and as I said, they don’t know you, and we’ll have some great fun; you can beat the game.”

“I’d like to do that.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I was beaten once.”

“You were?”

“Yes.”

“At what game?”

“Three card monte.”

“Well, well! and did they ever come the thimblerig on you?”

“Yes, I had a taste of that also.”

“Then you’ve been through the mill?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now, see here; I’ll teach you the game, and you are the only one I ever will teach it to; you are honest.  But if I were to teach the game to some fellows who claim to be honest they would start in as gamblers right away.”

“I never will.”

“No, I can see that in your eye; you’ve got an honest face; I like you clean through.”

“Thank you again.”

“Yes, and I am going to learn you a trick or two.”

“I’ll be glad to learn.”

The man produced his cards and said: 

“I always carry an outfit with me just for fun.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine.”

We cannot in words describe the peculiar tones of our hero or the singular expression upon his face, but he was playing for great fun.  He held in reserve a great surprise for the senator’s son, a grand climax and tableau was to close the scene, or rather, as Desmond classed it in his mind, grand comedy.  He did not know just how the fellow intended to work his game; he believed the method would be a novel one, but he was ready—­yes, permitting himself to be led on to the grand climax.

The wizard tramp was an expert gambler and he had taught Desmond a great many tricks in order to put the youth on his guard, and also for amusement during their lonely hours together.  All there was to learn about the trick Desmond already knew, but he pretended ignorance, and let the sharp go ahead.  He proved an apt scholar, however, for the senator’s son said: