“You ain’t goin’ back on her, are you?” continued Mr. Pedlow.  “You ain’t goin’ to make her out a liar?  I tell you, when the Countess de Vaurigard says a man ’s game, he is game!” He laid his big paw cordially on Mellin’s shoulder and smiled, lowering his voice to a friendly whisper.  “And I’ll bet ten thousand dollars right out of my pants pocket you are game, too!”

He pressed a glass into the other’s hand.  Smiling feebly, the embarrassed Mellin accepted it.

“Make it four more, Tommy,” said Pedlow.  “And here,” continued this thoughtful man, “I don’t go bandying no ladies’ names around a bar-room—­that ain’t my style—­but I do want to propose a toast.  I won’t name her, but you all know who I mean.”

“Sure we do,” interjected Cooley warmly.  “Queen!  That’s what she is.”

“Here’s to her,” continued Mr. Pedlow.  “Here’s to her—­brightest and best—­and no heel-taps!  And now let’s set down over in the corner and take it easy.  It ain’t hardly five o’clock yet, and we can set here comfortable, gittin’ ready for dinner, until half-past six, anyway.”

Whereupon the four seated themselves about a tabouret in the corner, and, a waiter immediately bringing them four fresh glasses from the bar, Mellin began to understand what Mr. Pedlow meant by “gittin’ ready for dinner.”  The burden of the conversation was carried almost entirely by the Honorable Chandler, though Cooley, whose boyish face was deeply flushed, now and then managed to interrupt by talking louder than the fat man.  Mr. Sneyd sat silent.

“Good ole Sneyd,” said Pedlow. “He never talks, jest saws wood.  Only Britisher I ever liked.  Plays cards like a goat.”

“He played a mighty good game on the steamer,” said Cooley warmly.

“I don’t care what he did on the steamer, he played like a goat the only time I ever played with him.  You know he did.  I reckon you was there!”

“Should say I was there!  He played mighty well—­”

“Like a goat,” reiterated the fat man firmly.

“Nothing of the sort.  You had a run of hands, that was all.  Nobody can go against the kind of luck you had that night; and you took it away from Sneyd and me in rolls.  But we’ll land you pretty soon, won’t we, ole Sneydie?”

“We sh’ll have a shawt at him, at least,” said the Englishman.

“Perhaps he won’t want us to try,” young Cooley pursued derisively.  “Perhaps he thinks I play like a goat, too!”

Mr. Pedlow threw back his head and roared.  “Give me somep’n easy!  You don’t know no more how to play a hand of cards than a giraffe does.  I’ll throw in all of my Blue Gulch gold-stock—­and it’s worth eight hundred thousand dollars if it’s worth a cent—­I’ll put it up against that tin automobile of yours, divide chips even and play you freeze-out for it.  You play cards?  Go learn hop-scotch!”

“You wait!” exclaimed the other indignantly.  “Next time we play we’ll make you look so small you’ll think you’re back in Congress!”