IF DRINKING INTERFERES
WITH YOUR BUSINESS,
STOP IT.

A back-room door was opened.  A burst of merriment smote across the loneliness.  A head appeared.  The tip of its nose quivered.

“Hey, old-timer!  Will you walk into my parlor?” it jeered.

Steve walked over with dignity and firmly closed the door, closing it, through sheer inadvertence, from the inside.  A shout of welcome greeted him.

With one exception—­the Transient—­they were all old friends; the Stockman, the Judge, alike darkly attractive; the supple-handed Merchant, with curly hair and nose; and the strong quiet figure of the Eminent Person.  A wight of high renown and national, this last, who had attained to his present bad Eminence through superior longevity.  As he was still in the prime of life, it should perhaps be explained that his longevity was purely comparative, as contrasted with that of a number of gentlemen, eminent in the same line, who had been a trifle dilatory at critical moments, to them final.

The Merchant, sometime Banker-by-night, as now, began evening up chip-stacks.  “How much?” he queried.  The Judge and the Eminent Person hitched along to make room between them.

“I’m not playing to-night,” Steve began.  He was cut short by a torrent of scoffing advice and information.

“Only one hundred to come in—­all you got to get out.”

“Another victim!”

“Bet ’em high and sleep in the streets!”

“Table stakes.  Cuter goes for aces and flushes.”

“Just give us what you can spare handy and go to bed.  You’ll save money and sleep.”

“Straight flush the best hand.”

“All ties go to the sweaters.”

“A man and his money are soon parted!”

“You play the first hand for fun, and all the rest of the night to get even!” Thus, and more also, the Five in hilarious chorus.

“Any man caught bluffing loses the pot,” added the Eminent Person, gravely admonitory.  “And a Lalla-Cooler can only be played once a night.”

“Nary a play play I,” said Steve aggrievedly.  “I stole just one measly horse and every one’s called me a horse-thief ever since.  But I’ve played poker, lo! these many years, and no one ever called me a gambler once.  The best I get is, ’Clear out, you blamed sucker.  Come back when you grow a new fleece!’ and when I get home the wind moans down the chimney, ’O-o-o-gh-h! wha-a-t have you do-o-one with your summer’s w-a-A-a-ges!”

“Aw, sit down—­you’re delayin’ the game,” said the Stockman.  The Banker shoved over three stacks of patriotically assorted colors and made a memorandum.  The Five howled mockery and derision, the cards danced and beckoned luringly in the mellow lamplight, the Judge pulled his coat-tail, the Major Premise tugged.  Steve sat down, pulling his sombrero over his eyes.

“He that runneth after fools shall have property enough,” he quoted inaccurately.  “I’ll have some of your black hides on the fence by morning.”