When his turn came to order, Locke hesitated an instant. With the examples set him on every side by men so much more experienced in the game, he need scarcely feel any compunction in taking something he was used to in moderation. A single glass could scarcely do him any harm. “Light beer,” he said, at length. Glancing hurriedly over his cards, he quite missed the odd side glance which Buck Fargo flashed at him. But perhaps it was not meant for him to see. CHAPTER X “WHEN THE CAT’S AWAY” The liquid refreshments arrived while they were in the midst of an unusually animated hand. Everybody had dropped out but Cy Russell, Siegrist, the first baseman, and Lefty. The latter, with three kings and a pair of tens, was half conscious that Fargo had taken a glass from the tray and set it down beside him. It was one of those cases, however, where one gets an impression without really seeing, and he could not have told afterward whether it was actually the big backstop who put it down, or the waiter. And when it came to that, he did not notice whether it was the hotel employee himself who held the tray, or some one else. He played his hand for all there was in it, and won the good-sized jackpot. Siegrist groaned as he flung down three queens and a pair of eights. Russell shoved over the chips with a grimace. “I was trying to get by with two pair, aces up. You don’t work that innocent-appearing face on me again, kid.” Lefty chuckled and took a long drink from the glass as he shuffled the cards to deal. The beer had an unusual flavor, and he sipped it again, trying to make out what was the matter with it. “Bum stuff,” he reflected. “Tastes sort of queer.” As the game progressed, however, he gradually drained the glass without thinking much about it. He was having unusual luck, and played his cards with a skill which put him away in the lead of the others. Presently Hagin sauntered up to the table. “What’ll you have, boys?” he asked. “Time for a second round.” Most of them ordered; one or two declined, among them Lefty. “No, thanks,” Locke said firmly, when Hagin pressed him. “I’ve had enough.” “I reckon you _have_ had enough,” put in Buck Fargo, in a tone which seemed so significant that the cub pitcher glanced swiftly at him. The big backstop was busy with his cards, and did not look up; but Lefty noticed that his face was oddly serious. He noticed also the half-emptied glass of seltzer standing beside Fargo’s scanty pile of chips, and a sudden qualm struck him. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken that beer, after all,” he said to himself. “I thought everybody was drinking something in that line.”