One, two, three hours passed. The storm had spent its strength; Mr.
Goodrich had won the coveted prize, and the guests of the evening had
returned to their homes. The last of the pile of ills before Frank was
placed in the center of the table. The silence was unbroken save for
the sound of the shuffling cards and the click of a whiskey glass as
one of the men helped himself to a drink.
Suddenly young Goodrich leaped to his feet with a wild exclamation:
"Tom Wharton, you're a liar and a cheat!" As he spoke, a heavy chair
whirled above his head and fell with a crashing blow upon the man who
sat at his right. Instantly all was confusion; the table was overturned;
the cards, money and glasses scattered over the room. Whitley and the
other man stood in blank astonishment at the sudden outburst. Frank
leaped at his prostrate victim, with a chair again raised to strike,
and had the second blow fallen, he would have been a murderer, for the
intent to kill shone from his glittering eyes. But Whitley, just in
time, caught his arm, while the other drew a knife and stepped between
the crazed man and his victim.
"Stop, you fool!" said Whitley. "And you, Jack, put up that knife and
look after Tom. This is a nice mess for us to be caught in." The gambler
did as he was bid, but Frank struggled in his friend's grasp. "Let me
go, Jim. Let me at him. I'm ruined anyway and I'll finish the man that
did it before I go myself." But Whitley was the stronger and forced
him backward, while the other man was busy with his fallen partner.
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