"Here's _to_ her," continued Mr. Pedlow. "Here's to her--brightest and
best--and no heel-taps! And now let's set down over in the corner and
take it easy. It ain't hardly five o'clock yet, and we can set here
comfortable, gittin' ready for dinner, until half-past six, anyway."

Whereupon the four seated themselves about a tabouret in the corner,
and, a waiter immediately bringing them four fresh glasses from the bar,
Mellin began to understand what Mr. Pedlow meant by "gittin' ready for
dinner." The burden of the conversation was carried almost entirely
by the Honorable Chandler, though Cooley, whose boyish face was deeply
flushed, now and then managed to interrupt by talking louder than the
fat man. Mr. Sneyd sat silent.

"Good ole Sneyd," said Pedlow. "_He_ never talks, jest saws wood. Only
Britisher I ever liked. Plays cards like a goat."

"He played a mighty good game on the steamer," said Cooley warmly.

"I don't care what he did on the steamer, he played like a goat the
only time _I_ ever played with him. You know he did. I reckon you was
_there!_"

"Should say I _was_ there! He played mighty well--"

"Like a goat," reiterated the fat man firmly.

"Nothing of the sort. You had a run of hands, that was all. Nobody can
go against the kind of luck you had that night; and you took it away
from Sneyd and me in rolls. But we'll land you pretty soon, won't we,
ole Sneydie?"