His visitor stirred impatiently. "Let's stick to business. I don't want a loan. I'm a dealer and I want work." Morris Best bustled out of the adjoining room at the moment, and, noting a feminine figure in this forbidden territory, he exclaimed: "Hey, miss! Theater's in the rear." Miller summoned him with a backward jerk of his head. "Morris, this kid's looking for a job--as dealer," said he. "Dealer?" Best halted abruptly. "That's funny." "What is funny about it?" demanded the girl. "My father was a gambler. I'm Rouletta Kirby." "Are you Sam Kirby's girl?" Miller inquired. When Rouletta nodded he removed his hat, then he extended his hand. "Shake," said he. "Now I've got you. You've had a hard time, haven't you? We heard about Sam and we thought you was dead. Step in here and set down." He motioned to the tiny little office which was curtained off from general view. Rouletta declined with a smile. "I really want work as a dealer. That's the only thing I can do well. I came here first because you have a good reputation." "Kirby's kid don't have to deal nothing. She's good for any kind of a stake on his name." "Dad would be glad to hear that. He was a--great man. He ran straight." Rouletta's eyes had become misty at Miller's indirect tribute to her father; nevertheless, she summoned a smile and went on: "He never borrowed, and neither will I. If you can't put me to work I'll try somewhere else." "How did you get down from White Horse?" Miller inquired, curiously. "'Poleon Doret brought me." "I know Doret. He's aces." "Can you really deal?" Best broke in. "Come. I'll prove that I can." Rouletta started for the gambling-room and the two men followed. Best spoke to his partner in a low voice: "Say, Ben, if she can make a half-way bluff at it she'll be a big card. Think of the play she'll get." But Miller was dubious. "She's nothing but a kid," he protested. "A dealer has got to have experience, and, besides, she ain't the kind that belongs in a dump. Somebody'd get fresh and--I'd have to bust him." There was little activity around the tables al this hour of the day; the occupants of the gambling-room were, for the most part, house employees who were waiting for business to begin. The majority of these employees were gathered about the faro layout, where the cards were being run in a perfunctory manner to an accompaniment of gossip and reminiscence. The sight of Ben Miller in company with a girl evoked some wonder. This wonder increased to amazement when Miller ordered the dealer out of his seat; it became open-mouthed when the girl took his place, then broke a new deck of cards, deftly shuffled them, and slipped them into the box. At this procedure the languid lookout, who had been comfortably resting upon his spine, uncurled his legs, hoisted himself into an attitude of attention, and leaned forward with a startled expression upon his face.