back into the close-smelling little room.

"Do you know," he remarked to Jim, "I never thought of it before, but I've
been playing a low-down trick on that poor girl. I kinda wish now I'd put
her next, and given her a chance to draw outa the game if she wanted to.
It's stacking the deck on her, if you ask _me_!" He pushed his hat back
upon his head, gave his shoulders a twist of dissatisfaction, and told Jim
to dig up some Eastern beer; drank it meditatively, and set down the glass
with some force.

"Yes, sir," he said disgustedly, "darn my fool soul, I stacked the deck on
that girl--and she looked to be real nice. Kinda innocent and trusting,
like she hasn't found out yet how rotten mean men critters can be." He took
the bottle and poured himself another glass. "She's sure due to wise up a
lot," he added grimly.

"You bet your sweet life!" Jim agreed, and then he reconsidered. "Still, I
dunno; Man ain't so worse. He ain't what you can call a real booze fighter.
This here's what I'd call an accidental jag; got it in the exuberance of
the joyful moment when he knew his girl was coming. He'll likely straighten
up and be all right. He--" Jim broke off there and looked to see who had
opened the door.

"Hello, Polly," he greeted carelessly.

The man came forward, grinning skinnily. Polycarp Jenks was the outrageous
name of him. He was under the average height, and he was lean to the point
of emaciation. His mouth was absolutely curveless--a straight gash across
his face; a gash which simply stopped short without any tapering or any
turn at the corners, when it had reached as far as was decent. His nose was