began to shuffle them, smiling vaguely, yet at the same time somewhat
painfully. "Arter all, Dick was mighty cut up about what he said, and I
felt kinder sorry for him. And, you know, I rather cotton to a man that
speaks his mind. Sorter clears him out, you know, of all the slumgullion
that's in him. It's just like washin' out a pan o' prospecting: you pour
in the water, and keep slushing it round and round, and out comes first
the mud and dirt, and then the gravel, and then the black sand, and
then--it's all out, and there's a speck o' gold glistenin' at the
bottom!"

"Then you think there WAS suthin' in what he said?" said Uncle Jim,
facing about slowly.

An odd tone in his voice made Uncle Billy look up. "No," he said
quickly, shying with the instinct of an easy pleasure-loving nature from
a possible grave situation. "No, I don't think he ever got the color!
But wot are ye moonin' about for? Ain't ye goin' to play? It's mor' 'n
half past nine now."

Thus adjured, Uncle Jim moved up to the table and sat down, while Uncle
Billy dealt the cards, turning up the Jack or right bower--but WITHOUT
that exclamation of delight which always accompanied his good fortune,
nor did Uncle Jim respond with the usual corresponding simulation of
deep disgust. Such a circumstance had not occurred before in the history
of their partnership. They both played in silence--a silence only
interrupted by a larger splash of raindrops down the chimney.

"We orter put a couple of stones on the chimney-top, edgewise, like Jack
Curtis does. It keeps out the rain without interferin' with the draft,"
said Uncle Billy musingly.