"Yes, I see now," said the neophyte.

They began playing. Spennie, as was only to be expected in a contest
between teacher and student, won the first two hands. Wesson won the
next.

"I've got the hang of it all right, now," he said complacently. "It's
a simple sort of game. Make it more exciting, don't you think, if we
played for something?"

"All right," said Spennie slowly, "if you like."

He would not have suggested it himself, but after all, hang it, if the
man simply _asked_ for it--It was not his fault if the winning of a
hand should have given the fellow the impression that he knew all that
there was to be known about picquet. Of course, picquet was a game
where skill was practically bound to win. But--After all, Wesson had
plenty of money. He could afford it.

"All right," said Spennie again. "How much?"

"Something fairly moderate. Ten bob a hundred?"

There is no doubt that Spennie ought at this suggestion to have
corrected the novice's notion that ten shillings a hundred was fairly
moderate. He knew that it was possible for a poor player to lose four
hundred points in a twenty-minute game, and usual for him to lose two
hundred. But he let the thing go.

"Very well," he said.