“We orter put a couple of stones on the chimney-top, edgewise, like Jack Curtis does.  It keeps out the rain without interferin’ with the draft,” said Uncle Billy musingly.

“What’s the use if”—­

“If what?” said Uncle Billy quietly.

“If we don’t make it broader,” said Uncle Jim half wearily.

They both stared at the chimney, but Uncle Jim’s eye followed the wall around to the bunks.  There were many discolorations on the canvas, and a picture of the Goddess of Liberty from an illustrated paper had broken out in a kind of damp, measly eruption.  “I’ll stick that funny handbill of the ‘Washin’ Soda’ I got at the grocery store the other day right over the Liberty gal.  It’s a mighty perty woman washin’ with short sleeves,” said Uncle Billy.  “That’s the comfort of them picters, you kin always get somethin’ new, and it adds thickness to the wall.”

Uncle Jim went back to the cards in silence.  After a moment he rose again, and hung his overcoat against the door.

“Wind’s comin’ in,” he said briefly.

“Yes,” said Uncle Billy cheerfully, “but it wouldn’t seem nat’ral if there wasn’t that crack in the door to let the sunlight in o mornin’s.  Makes a kind o’ sundial, you know.  When the streak o’ light’s in that corner, I says ‘six o’clock!’ when it’s across the chimney I say ‘seven!’ and so ’tis!”

It certainly had grown chilly, and the wind was rising.  The candle guttered and flickered; the embers on the hearth brightened occasionally, as if trying to dispel the gathering shadows, but always ineffectually.  The game was frequently interrupted by the necessity of stirring the fire.  After an interval of gloom, in which each partner successively drew the candle to his side to examine his cards, Uncle Jim said:—­

“Say?”

“Well!” responded Uncle Billy.

“Are you sure you saw that third crow on the wood-pile?”

“Sure as I see you now—­and a darned sight plainer.  Why?”

“Nothin’, I was just thinkin’.  Look here!  How do we stand now?”

Uncle Billy was still losing.  “Nevertheless,” he said cheerfully, “I’m owin’ you a matter of sixty thousand dollars.”

Uncle Jim examined the book abstractedly.  “Suppose,” he said slowly, but without looking at his partner, “suppose, as it’s gettin’ late now, we play for my half share of the claim agin the limit—­seventy thousand—­to square up.”

“Your half share!” repeated Uncle Billy, with amused incredulity.

“My half share of the claim,—­of this yer house, you know,—­one half of all that Dick Bullen calls our rotten starvation property,” reiterated Uncle Jim, with a half smile.

Uncle Billy laughed.  It was a novel idea; it was, of course, “all in the air,” like the rest of their game, yet even then he had an odd feeling that he would have liked Dick Bullen to have known it.  “Wade in, old pard,” he said.  “I’m on it.”