It was in September, and the air was chilly. The landlord ushered him into what was called the “card room”--the only place there was a fire. A cheery blaze leaped up the wide old-fashioned chimney, and by the light of kerosene lamps, Pembroke saw a card party at a round table in the corner. It was Ahlberg, young Hibbs, his political opponent, and two or three other idle young men of the county. According to the provincial etiquette, Pembroke was invited to join the game, which he courteously declined on the ground that he was much fatigued and was only waiting for the blacksmith to put his horse’s shoe on before starting for home. The game then proceeded. Pembroke felt awkward and ill at ease. He knew he was in the way, as the loud laughter from Hibbs and his friends, and Ahlberg’s subdued chuckle had ceased when he came in. They played seriously--it was écarté, a game that Ahlberg had just taught his postulants. Young Hibbs had a huge roll of bills on the table before him, which he somewhat ostentatiously displayed in the presence of his opponent, whose lack of bills was notorious. Also, Pembroke felt that his presence induced young Hibbs to bet more recklessly than ever, as a kind of bravado--and Ahlberg always won, when the stake was worth any thing. The waiting seemed interminable to Pembroke seated in front of the fire. The conversation related solely to the game. Presently Pembroke started slightly. Ahlberg was giving them some general views on the subject of écarté. Pembroke himself was a good player, and he had never heard this scheme of playing advocated. Over the mantel was an old-fashioned mirror, tilted forward. Although his back was to the players, Pembroke could see every motion reflected in the glass. He saw Hibbs lose three times running in fifteen minutes. Pembroke’s sight was keen. He fixed it on the glass and a curious look came into his dark face. Once he made a slight movement as if to rise, but sat still. A second time he half rose and sat down again--nobody in the room had seen the motion. Then, without the slightest warning, he suddenly took three strides over to the card table and, reaching over, seized Ahlberg by the collar, and lifted him bodily up from the table into a standing position. “Produce that king of spades,” he said. If he had shot Ahlberg no greater surprise could have been created. Hibbs jumped up, dashing the cards and money in a heap on the floor, and nearly upsetting the table. One of his companions grabbed the lamp to save it. Ahlberg turned a deathly color, and made some inarticulate effort to be heard, and tried to wrest himself from Pembroke’s grasp. But it was in vain. Pembroke shook him slightly, but never relaxed his hold. “The king of spades, I say.”