ber-ridge, a capital game for two. Shuffle and cut and deal away, and
let the lo-oser pay-ah. Ber-ridge----"

"Well, let's have a game, then. Anything for something to do. Curse
this rain! We shall be cooped up here till dinner at this rate."

"Double dummy's a frightfully rotten game," said Spennie. "Ever played
picquet? I could teach it to you in five minutes."

A look of almost awe came into Wesson's face, the look of one who sees
a miracle performed before his eyes. For years he had been using all
the large stock of diplomacy at his command to induce callow youths to
play picquet with him and here was this admirable young man, this
pearl among young men, positively offering to teach him. It was too
much happiness. What had he done to deserve this? He felt as a
toil-worn lion might have felt if an antelope, instead of making its
customary bee line for the horizon, had expressed a friendly hope that
it would be found tender and inserted its head between his jaws.

"I--it's very good of you. I shouldn't mind being shown the idea."

He listened attentively while Spennie explained at some length the
principles which govern the game of picquet. Every now and then he
asked a question. It was evident that he was beginning to grasp the
idea of the game.

"_What_ exactly is repicquing?" he asked, as Spennie paused.

"It's like this," said Spennie, returning to his lecture.