There was nothing else to do. Charlie muttered something and rose slowly and pushed his chair back violently in a fit of childish anger. Instantly the chair was taken and the game was going on almost before he had his back turned. Everett kept close beside him until he had his coat and hat, and he even went down to the door with him. Eugene was waiting there, but he said nothing. He was much mortified at his complete failure and at Everett's complete success. The grinning black opened the door. "Good night, Spencer," said Everett. "And good night, Charlie. If you take my advice, you'll give it up." The door shut behind the two and Everett went upstairs again. He paid no attention to the game, but walked into the dimly lighted back room and to the sideboard. He felt out of sorts with himself and with everybody and everything else. He must be thirsty; and he poured himself out a glass and stood sipping it and looking absently at the heavily curtained windows at the rear. There did not happen to be anybody else at the sideboard. He was still sipping with his back toward the front room and the game when he felt a touch upon his arm. He turned quickly. There stood the dealer. "Hello, Charlie!" he said in some surprise. "Your recess? Do you want me to apologize for taking that young cub out and making all that row?" The dealer shook his head. "That was right enough. I've been thinking about him for some--" He stopped short and swallowed--something; possibly a lump or something of the kind. But it is not conceivable that such a man can have the more usual emotions of pity and charity. For they are the usual emotions, whatever you may say against it. If Everett had only known it, that was the very trouble with him. He had not been thirsty, primarily. His thirst was but a physical symptom of his mental state. But I interrupted the dealer. He was speaking again. "I should like to ask you a question, Mr. Morton," he said. "What is it, Charlie?" Everett felt but a passing interest in his question. "I noticed that you called the young man Ladue." "Did I? That was very thoughtless of me. I apologize." The dealer did not smile, but went on, apparently pursuing his object, whatever that was. "And the other man spoke of Sally." "Indeed! That was even more thoughtless." "Charlie Ladue," the dealer continued in an even voice, "and Sally. It sounds as if Sally should be his sister. Is she?" Everett hesitated for a moment. After all, what harm? "Well, yes, she is his sister. Much disturbed at hearing of his doings. You and I, Charlie," he said lightly, "know better." The dealer smiled faintly. For a wonder his faint smile was not unpleasant. "Can you tell me," he pursued, "where Miss Sally Ladue is to be found--say, in the morning?" Everett hesitated again and glanced at the man suspiciously. This was a more serious matter.