But no, my uneasy spirit
kept dragging me back at quarter-hour intervals; and always I saw Backus
drinking his wine - fairly and squarely, and the others throwing theirs
away. It was the painfullest night I ever spent.
The only hope I had was that we might reach our anchorage with speed -
that would break up the game. I helped the ship along all I could with
my prayers. At last we went booming through the Golden Gate, and my
pulses leaped for joy. I hurried back to that door and glanced in.
Alas, there was small room for hope - Backus's eyes were heavy and
bloodshot, his sweaty face was crimson, his speech maudlin and thick,
his body sawed drunkenly about with the weaving motion of the ship. He
drained another glass to the dregs, whilst the cards were being dealt.
He took his hand, glanced at it, and his dull eyes lit up for a moment.
The gamblers observed it, and showed their gratification by hardly
perceptible signs.
'How many cards?'
'None!' said Backus.
One villain - named Hank Wiley - discarded one card, the others three
each.
