FIVE-DOG LIMIT AT 65° N.
quickly showed him from the discard how he would have made a heart flush if he*d been bright. 'And you call that poker, you old pirate!' hissed Tib, snapping his fingers beneath his disgruntled master's long nose.
"I firmly believed the irate gamester was about to sacrifice the old fellow right then and there with very little ceremony; but—Lord bless you, sir! he knew he had played rotten poker; and dropping his spear he began to talk deep down in his throat and make exonerating gestures. But Tib was obdurate, and, eying him scornfully, flapped the damnatory pair of spots before his sullen face, while he informed him he couldn't play mumble-peg with a blind man. I tell you, sir, his rage was sublime. It heartened me wonderfully, and I began to think that life among the lowly wasn't so tough, after all.
"Then he caused my heart to leave its accustomed place and to wander up into my throat by giving the chief a shove with his boot and motioning him to quit the rug. The chief scowled and said something which I am sure wouldn't look well if printed in his home paper, and hesitated between leaving the game and scalping Tib. But my patron was fully alive now and confident. 'Steal away, you imbecile,' he ordered, fiercely, and the voter from Gath, probably realizing that he would lose
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