the cork, and empty the brandy out upon the ground.

"Trent! Do you hear, Trent?"

He could no longer ignore the hoarse, plaintive cry. He looked
unwillingly up. Monty was standing over him with white, twitching
face and bloodshot eyes.

"Deal the cards," he muttered simply, and sat down.

Trent hesitated. Monty misunderstood him and slowly drew the
photograph from his pocket and laid it face downwards upon the
table. Trent bit his lip and frowned.

"Rather a foolish game this," he said. "Let's call it off, eh?
You shall have - well, a thimbleful of the brandy and go to bed.
I'll sit up, I'm not tired."

But Monty swore a very profane and a very ugly oath.

"I'll have the lot," he muttered. "Every drop; every d - d drop!
Ay, and I'll keep the picture. You see, my friend, you see; deal
the cards."

Then Trent, who had more faults than most men, but who hated bad
language, looked at the back of the photograph, and, shuddering,
hesitated no longer. He shuffled the cards and handed them to
Monty.

"Your deal," he said laconically. "Same as before I suppose?"