The first to arrive at the barroom was Long Mike himself, and he, looking around, conveyed with his eyes, in some almost imperceptible fashion, an invitation to Stumpy to step inside. Accordingly that gentleman arose, though without unseemly haste, and made one of a small group that presently lined up in front of Sam’s bar. Two of the group were Gallagher and Hennessy, and Stumpy was not the only one who noted with rising spirits the exaggerated politeness with which they spoke to each other. There had been nothing of importance doing in the community since navigation had closed at the beginning of winter, and as it was now almost warm weather again--warm enough, at all events, to tempt the people out-of-doors--the prospect of some excitement was exhilarating. “It’s a very good game you play at shtud-poker, Mr. Gallagher,” said Hennessy, when the drink was swallowed and the pipes were all relighted. “You do me proud, Mr. Hinnissy,” replied Gallagher, with equal courtesy, “an’ ye play very well yersilf, barrin’ th’ matther o’ poor luck now an’ ag’in.” “Oi was thinkin’ that same lasht night,” said the other. “Av the cyards hadn’t run till ye the way they did, belike ye’d not have won the money ye did.” “Thot moight be, an’ again maybe not,” said Gallagher, still polite, but with a tone of satisfaction in his voice that Hennessy detected. “Ye know,” he said, “they run different, different toimes.” “They do,” said Gallagher. “An’ that’s when the shkill comes in. Now yer own game is wan that wins, av ye have the cyards, but ye lose when ye haven’t.” “An’ don’t ye find that same to be yer own experience?” asked Hennessy. “Oi do not,” said Gallagher. “Whin Oi haven’t the cyards, Oi never bet. It’s the wan thing ye have to l’arn about the game.” The matter of seven dollars that Hennessy had lost the night before was still rankling, and this intimation that it was his lack of ability as a player that caused him to lose was hard to bear. He commanded himself with a visible effort and merely said: “Maybe ye’d loike to exercise yer shkill some more the marnin’, Oi don’ know.” “Well,” said Gallagher, “ye may have yer revenge an yer lukkin’ for it.” And the game was on. There was some talk as they took their seats at the table about some of the others joining in, but Hennessy declared that he much preferred to play with Gallagher alone, and his wish was respected. They made it a ten-dollar freeze-out, and the others in the room gathered around to see the play. For a considerable time it seemed as if Gallagher’s boasting had some foundation in fact, for he played cautiously, and several times abandoned the hand when he had one or even two good cards showing, evidently believing that he was beaten by the other’s buried card, but after he had got well ahead, Hennessy began to get good hands.