would play.

Warden laughed and looked at Fletcher. "Do you care to take me on, sir?"
he said.

From the other side of the table, Harley uttered his barking laugh. "Now
is your chance, Mr. Hill! Down him once and for all, and give us the
pleasure of seeing how it's done!"

There was venom in the words. They were a revelation to Dot, the almost
silent looker-on. It was as if a flashlight had given her a sudden
glimpse of this man's soul, showing her bitter enmity--a black and cruel
hatred--an implacable yearning for revenge. She felt as if she had looked
down into the seething heart of a volcano.

Then she heard Hill's voice. "I am quite willing to play," he said.

A buzz of interest went through the room. The prospective match plainly
excited Warden's many admirers. They drew together, and she heard some
low-voiced betting begin.

But this was instantly checked by Fletcher. "I'm not doing it for a
gamble," he said, curtly. "Please keep your money in your pockets, or
the match is off!"

They looked at him with lowering glances, but they submitted. It was
evident to Dot that they all stood in considerable awe of him--all save
Warden, who chalked Hill's cue with supreme self-assurance, and then
lighted a cigarette without the smallest hint of embarrassment.