he says to me, 'is an old man's trade.' It's a great game, Mr. Kendrick."
"A great game," repeated Kendrick, "yes, it's a great game." His tone was dull. "I want to know how it's played," he said again.
"The six of clubs," reflected the mayor, throwing down another card. "Say, she's going fine now. There ain't much to it. You use two decks, exactly alike—shuffle 'em together—the eight of hearts—the jack of—say, that's great—you lay the cards down here, just as they come—like this"
He paused. His huge hand held a giddy pasteboard. A troubled look was on his face. Then he smiled happily, and went on in triumph.
"And then you build, Mr. Kendrick," he said. "The reds and the blacks. You build the blacks on the left, and the reds on the right—do you get me? Then—say, what's the matter?"
For Kendrick had swayed and almost fallen on the admiral's game—the game that had once sent a man to hell.
"Go on," he said, bracing. "Nothing's the matter. Go on. Build, damn it, build!"
