love with Jacky. That is to say, he coveted her--desired her. When
Lablache desired anything in that little world of his, he generally
secured it to himself, but, in this matter, he had hitherto been
thwarted. His desire had increased proportionately. He was annoyed to
think that Jacky had retired at his coming. He was in no way blind to
the reason of her sudden departure, but beyond his first remark he was
not the man to advertise his chagrin. He could afford to wait.

"You'll take a bite o' supper, Mr. Lablache?" said old Norton, in a tone
of inquiry.

"Supper?--no, thanks, Norton. But if you've a drop of something hot I
can do with that."

"We've gener'ly got somethin' o' that about," replied the old man.
"Whiskey or rum?"

"Whisky, man, whisky. I've got liver enough already without touching
rum." Then he turned to "Poker" John.

"It's a devilish night, John, devilish. I started before you. Thought I
could make the river in time. I was completely lost on the other side of
the creek. I fancy the storm worked up from that direction."

He lumped into a chair close beside the stove. The others had already
seated themselves.

"We didn't chance it. Bill drove us straight here," said "Poker" John.

"Guess Bill knew something--he generally does," as an afterthought.