"
"That's what this sport said," agreed Challan. "'Your eye agin my
hand,' says he."
"Well, I'd like to take a try at her," mused Tim.
But at this point Newmark broke into the discussion. "Have you a
pack of cards?" he asked in his dry, incisive manner.
Somebody rummaged in a turkey and produced the remains of an old
deck.
"I don't believe this is a full deck," said he, "and I think they's
part of two decks in it."
"I only want three," assured Newmark, reaching his hand
for the pack.
The men crowded around close, those in front squatting, those behind
looking over their shoulders.
Newmark cleared a cracker-box of drying socks and drew it to him.
"These three are the cards," he said, speaking rapidly. "There is
the jack of hearts. I pass my hands--so. Pick the jack, one of
you," he challenged, leaning back from the cracker-box on which lay
the three cards, back up. "Any of you," he urged. "You, North."
Thus directly singled out, the foreman leaned forward and rather
hesitatingly laid a blunt forefinger on one of the bits of
pasteboard.
Without a word, Newmark turned it over. It was the ten of spades.
"Let me try," interposed Tim Nolan, pressing his big shoulders
forward.
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