Mr. Richard Parker looked briefly around the table. He did know, at least by sight, all who were there but one. That one was a stranger to him; a tall man with a long, thick, perfectly black beard tied into a knot with a piece of string. His thick, black hair was parted in the middle and brushed smoothly down upon either side of his head, and was trimmed squarely all around his neck. The locks at his temple were plaited into long strings, that hung down in front of his ears, in which twinkled a pair of gold ear-rings. His face was tanned by exposure to a leathery russet, but deepened to a bricky red in his cheeks. At the name of Parker the stranger had looked up sharply for an instant, and then had looked down again at the cards he was in the act of shuffling. A sudden hush as of expectancy had fallen upon the room. Everybody was looking attentively at Mr. Parker and at the stranger. “Who is your friend yonder, Parrot?” asked Mr. Parker, “I don’t know him.” “Him?” said Parrot, “why, he’s no more a friend of mine than he is a friend of all the rest of us, Mr. Parker.” Seeing the other’s hesitation, the stranger spoke up boldly and loudly. “My name is Teach,” said he, “Captain Teach, and I hail from North Carolina. It’s like enough you’ve heard of me before, as I’ve heard of you, sir. Well, then, I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Parker.” He reached a brown, hairy hand across the table toward Mr. Richard Parker, looking up at him as he did so with the most impudent coolness and steadiness. Mr. Richard Parker made no sign of having recognized the stranger’s name. He and the pirate seemed to be the only self-possessed men in the room. He calmly ignored the proffered hand, but said in a perfectly equal voice: “Why, then, I am obliged to you for telling me who you are,” and then coolly and composedly took his seat. “What game do you play, Parrot?” said he. “Why, Mr. Parker,” said Parrot eagerly, “’tis lanterloo, and Captain Teach is holding the bank just now. Will you take a hand, sir?” * * * * * By midnight the bowl of punch had been emptied and filled, and emptied again, and at times the uproar was stunning. Mr. Richard Parker had laid aside his coat and unbuttoned his waistcoat. His shirt was opened at his handsome, round throat, and the sweat trickled down his smooth red neck. “Harkee now, Captain Teach,” he called across the table in a loud, rather hoarse, voice, “I know very well who you are, you bloody villain! You’re a bloody pirate, d’ ye hear?” The other glowered with tipsy truculence back at him for a moment or two in silence. “You can’t prove me pirate, Mr. Dick Parker,” said he at last, “and no man can prove me pirate now. Maybe I am a pirate and maybe I’m none, but how can you prove I’m a pirate?”