pleasure-loving nature from a possible grave situation. “No, I don't think he ever got the color! But wot are ye moonin' about for? Ain't ye goin' to play? It's mor' 'n half past nine now.”
Thus adjured, Uncle Jim moved up to the table and sat down, while Uncle Billy dealt the cards, turning up the Jack or right bower—but WITHOUT that exclamation of delight which always accompanied his good fortune, nor did Uncle Jim respond with the usual corresponding simulation of deep disgust. Such a circumstance had not occurred before in the history of their partnership. They both played in silence—a silence only interrupted by a larger splash of raindrops down the chimney.
“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.”
Uncle Jim lit another candle to reinforce the fading light, and the deal fell to Uncle Billy. He turned up Jack of clubs. He also turned a little redder as he took up his cards, looked at them, and glanced hastily at his partner. “It's no use playing,” he said. “Look here!” He laid down his cards on the table. They were the ace, king and queen of clubs, and Jack of spades—or left bower—which, with the turned-up Jack of clubs—or right bower—comprised ALL the winning cards!
“By jingo! If we'd been playin' four-handed, say you an' me agin some other ducks, we'd have made 'four' in that deal, and h'isted some money—eh?” and his eyes sparkled. Uncle Jim, also, had a slight tremulous light in his own.
“Oh no! I didn't see no three crows this afternoon,” added Uncle Billy gleefully, as his partner, in turn, began to shuffle the cards with laborious and conscientious exactitude. Then dealing, he turned up a heart for trumps. Uncle Billy took up his cards one by one, but when he had finished his face had become as pale as it had been red before. “What's the matter?” said Uncle Jim quickly, his own face growing white.
Uncle Billy slowly and with breathless awe laid down his cards, face up on the table. It was exactly the same sequence IN HEARTS, with the knave of diamonds added. He could again take every trick.
They stared at each other with vacant faces and a half-drawn smile of fear. They could hear the wind moaning in the trees beyond; there was a sudden rattling at the door. Uncle Billy started to his feet, but Uncle Jim caught his arm. “DON'T LEAVE THE CARDS! It's only the wind; sit down,” he said in a low awe-hushed voice, “it's your deal; you were two before, and two now, that makes your four; you've only one point to make to win the game. Go on.”
They both poured out a cup of whiskey, smiling vaguely, yet with a certain terror in their eyes. Their hands were cold; the cards slipped from Uncle Billy's benumbed fingers; when he had shuffled them he passed them to his partner to shuffle them also, but did not speak. When Uncle Jim had shuffled them methodically he handed them back fatefully to his partner. Uncle Billy dealt them with a trembling hand. He turned up a club. “If you are sure of these tricks you know you've won,” said Uncle Jim in a voice that was scarcely audible. Uncle Billy did not reply, but tremulously laid down the ace and right and left bowers.
He had won!
A feeling of relief came over each, and they laughed hysterically and discordantly. Ridiculous and childish as their contest might have seemed to a looker-on, to each the tension had been as great as that of the greatest gambler, without the gambler's trained restraint, coolness, and composure. Uncle Billy nervously took up the cards again.
“Don't,” said Uncle Jim gravely; “it's no use—the luck's gone now.”
“Just one more deal,” pleaded his partner.
Uncle Jim looked at the fire, Uncle Billy hastily dealt, and threw the two hands face up on the table. They were the ordinary average cards. He dealt again, with the same result. “I told you so,” said Uncle Jim, without looking up.
It certainly seemed a tame performance after their wonderful hands, and after another trial Uncle Billy threw the cards aside and drew his stool before the fire. “Mighty queer, warn't it?” he said, with reminiscent awe. “Three times running. Do you know, I felt a kind o' creepy feelin' down my back all the time. Criky! what luck! None of the boys would believe it if we told 'em—least of all that Dick Bullen, who don't believe in luck, anyway. Wonder what he'd have said! and, Lord! how he'd have looked! Wall! what are you starin' so for?”
Uncle Jim had faced around, and was gazing at Uncle Billy's good-humored, simple face. “Nothin'!” he said briefly, and his eyes again sought
