“‘Sir,’ said the Major, ‘they are men of honor; and as men of honor, you observe, there is no saying what scrapes they may get into. I remember—it can’t be more than twenty years ago—a brother officer and I were opponents at a game of poker. That officer and I were most intimately acquainted. Another bottle of champagne, you nigger, and fill those gentlemen’s glasses. Very fine that, sir—I never tasted better wine,’ said the Major, as he turned his mustaches up, and poured the gooseberry down. ‘Where was I, Judge? Ah! precisely—most intimate acquaintance, you observe—I had the highest opinion of that officer’s honor—the highest possible opinion,’ with an oath. ‘Well, sir, the luck was against me—I never won a hand! My partner couldn’t stand it. ’Gad, sir, he _did_ swear. But my friend—another slice of crane, nigger, and rather rare; come, gentlemen, help yourself, and pass the bottle—that’s what I call a high old wine, you observe. Where was I, Judge? Ah! just so.—Well, my friend, you observe, did not say a word; but took it as coolly as could be. We kept on losing; they kept on winning; when, as quick as greased lightning, what do you think my partner did, sir? May I be stuck, forked end up, in a ’coon hole, if he didn’t whip out his knife and chop off three of my friend’s fingers. My friend, you observe, halloo’d loud enough. ‘You may halloo,’ says my partner, ‘but if you’d had a full, sir, you’d have lost your hand,’ (an oath.) My intimate friend, you observe, had been letting his partner know what cards he had by putting out a finger for each one; and having the misfortune, you observe, to hold three when my partner found him out, why, sir, you observe, he lost three of his fingers.’” Between his roguish friend and his ruffianly partner, the Major felt himself in a dilemma how to act. “‘I think,’ said the Judge, ‘I have heard the story before; but, excuse me, I do not see exactly what relation it bears to these gentlemen, and your offer to serve them.’ ‘That,’ said the Major, ‘if you will give me time, is exactly what I am coming to.—Nigger, bring me a dozen cigars.—The sequel is soon told. Considering my duty as an officer, a friend, and a gentleman, I cut my friend, and shot my partner for insulting him; and if, you observe, these gentlemen shall honor me with their friendship, I will be most happy to do the same by them.’” Whilst deprecating the good offices of this Yankee O’Trigger in the shooting or cutting line, Mr. Coke and his companion availed of him as a guide to an adjacent faro table, where the gallant Major lost eight hundred dollars with infinite coolness, drank a cocktail, buttoned his coat, and walked away.