Little Missioner's nose as though that individual were entirely
accountable for his bad luck.

"Look at that accursed trey of hearts!" he demanded. "First card, ain't
it? First card!--an' if it had been the third, 'r the sixth, 'r the
ninth, 'r anything except that confounded Number One, I'd have slipped
the game up my sleeve. Ain't it enough to wreck any honest man's soul? I
ask you--ain't it?"

"Why don't you change the trey of hearts to the place that suits you?"
asked David, innocently. "It seems to me it would be very easy to move
it to third place in the deck if you want it there."

The baggage-man's bulging eyes seemed ready to pop as he stared at
David, and when he saw that David really meant what he had said a look
of unutterable disgust spread over his countenance. Then he grinned--a
sickly and malicious sort of grin.

"Say, mister, you've never played solitaire, have you?" he asked.

"Never," confessed David.

Without another word the baggage-man hunched himself over his table,
dealt himself another hand, and not until the train began slowing up for
Thoreau's place did he rise from his seat or cease his low mutterings
and grumblings. In response to the engineer's whistle he jumped to his
feet and rolled back the car door.

"Now step lively!" he demanded. "We've got no orders to stop here and
we'll have to dump this stuff out on the move!"