Last year I beat Dick Bradley out with a woman over in Ballard. Then his fool brother tried to cut in an' beat me out. Cards? H—l!" he snorted, walking towards the door. "You an' everybody else knows—" he stopped suddenly and jerked his gun loose as a shadow fell across the doorsill. Then he laughed and slapped the newcomer on the shoulder: "Hullo, Ace, my boy! You had a narrow squeak then. You want to make more noise when you turn corners, unless somebody 's looking for you with a gun. How are you, anyhow? An' how 's yore dad? I 've been going over to see him regular, right along, but I 've been so busy I kept putting it off."
"Dad's better, Skinny; an' I'm feeling too good to be true. What 'll you have?"
"Reckon it's my treat; you wet last th' other time. Ain't that right, Quigg? Shore, I knowed it was."
"All right, here's luck," Ace smiled. "Quigg, that's better stock; an' would you look at th' style—real curtains!"
