A most contemptuous look was the only answer Davis condescended to this speech. At last, after he had lighted a fresh cigar, and puffed it into full work, he said, “Well, what was it he had to say to you?” “Oh, we talked away of everything; and, by Jupiter! he knows a little of everything. Such a memory, too; remembers every fellow that was in power the last fifty years, and can tell you how he was 'squared,' for it 's all on the 'cross' with _them_, Grog, just as in the ring. Every fellow rides to order, and half the running one sees is no race! Any hot water to be had?” “No, there's cold in that jug yonder. Well, go on with Dunn.” “He is very agreeable, I must say; for, besides having met everybody, he knows all their secret history,--how this one got out of his scrape, and why that went into the hole. You see in a moment how much he must be trusted, and that he can make his book on life as safe as the Bank of England. Fearfully strong that gin is!” “No, it ain't,” said Grog, rudely; “it's not the velvety tipple Dunn gave you, but it's good British gin, that's what it is.” “You would n't believe, too, how much he knows about women! He's up to everything that's going on in town. Very strange that, for a fellow like him! Don't you think so?” Davis made no answer, but puffed away slowly. “And after women, what came next?” “He talked next--let me see--about books. How he likes Becky Sharp,--how he enjoys her! He says that character will do the same service as the published discovery of some popular fraud; and that the whole race of Beckys now are detected swindlers,--nothing less.” “And what if they are? Is that going to prevent their cheating? Hasn't the world always its crop of flats coming out in succession like green peas? What did he turn to after that?” “Then we had a little about the turf.” “He don't know anything about the turf!” said Grog, with intense contempt. “I 'm not so sure of that,” said Beecher, cautiously. “Did he speak of _me_ at all?” said Grog, with a peculiar grin. “No; only to ask if you were the same Captain Davis that was mentioned in that affair at Brighton.” “And what did you say?” “Said! Not knowing, could n't tell, Master Grog. Knew you were a great friend of my brother Lackington's, and always hand and glove with Blanchard and the swells.” “And how did he take that?” “Said something about two of the same name, and changed the subject.” Davis drew near the table, and taking up the cards began to shuffle them slowly, like one seeking some excuse for a moment of uninterrupted reflection. “I've found out the way that Yankee fellow does the king,” said he, at last. “It's not the common bridge that everybody knows. It's a Mississippi touch, and a very neat one. Cut them now wherever you like.” Beecher cut the cards with all due care, and leaned eagerly over the table. “King of diamonds!” cried Grog, slapping the card on the board.