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Updated: June 24, 2025
"So can I." Jacky turned sharply. "I'll tell you why he's going, Bill, and you can bet your last cent I'm right. Lablache is at the bottom of it. He's at the bottom of everything that causes people to leave Foss River. He's a blood-sucker." Bunning-Ford nodded. He was rarely expansive. Moreover, he knew he could add nothing to what the girl had said. She expressed his sentiments fully.
And he felt that it was an advantageous moment in which to retire to his employer's store, and hide his diminished head amongst the bales of dry goods and the monumental ledgers to be found there. "That youth has a considerable imagination." The Hon. Bunning-Ford turned from the window and strolled leisurely towards the door. "Where are you going?" exclaimed "Poker" John.
Bunning-Ford and Jacky occupied the front seat of the sleigh. The former was driving the spanking team of blacks of which old "Poker" John was justly proud. The sleigh was open, as in Canada all such sleighs are. Mrs. Abbot and the doctor sat in a seat with their backs to Jacky and her companion, and old John Allandale faced the wind in the back seat, alone.
And too, in that slightly uncouth collection, something of the character of the proprietor was revealed. Bunning-Ford was essentially careless of comfort. And surely he was nothing if not a keen and ardent sportsman. "Sit down." Bill indicated the chairs with a wave of the arm.
There was nothing uncommon in the incident, but the sight riveted his attention, and an evil light came into his usually expressionless eyes. He recognized the horseman as the Hon. Bunning-Ford. Lablache swung round on his revolving chair, and, in doing so, kicked over a paper-basket. The rapidity of his movement was hardly to be expected in one of his bulk.
William Bunning-Ford be dubbed 'Lord' Bill, and why should that sweet niece of yours, who is the possessor of such a charming name as Joaquina, be hailed by every man within one hundred miles of Calford as 'Jacky'? I think it is both absurd and vulgar." "Possibly you are right, my dear lady. But you can never alter the ways of the prairie.
Lablache shrugged his shoulders, affectionately shuffling the cards the while. He kept his eyes averted. "What do the others say?" There was a challenge in Lablache's tone. Bunning-Ford flushed slightly at the cheek-bones. That peculiar pursing was at his lips. "Anything goes with me.
She had been an observer of the finish of the game. She had heard Bill's remarks on his loss, and yet not by a single word did she betray her knowledge. Inwardly she railed at herself for having gone to bed. She wondered how it had fared with her uncle. Bunning-Ford left the room. Somehow he felt that he must get away from the steady gaze of those gray eyes.
"How much?" Bill shrugged his shoulders in a deprecating fashion. The same gentle smile hovered round his sleepy eyes. "Three thousand dollars." Jacky glided off into the already dancing throng. For a moment the Hon. Bunning-Ford and Mrs. Abbot watched the girl as she glided in and out amongst the dancers, then, with a sigh, the old lady turned to her companion.
The first few hands resulted in but desultory betting. Sums of money changed hands but there was very little in it. Lablache was the principal loser. Three "pots" in succession were taken by John Allandale, but their aggregate did not amount to half the limit. A little luck fell to Bunning-Ford. He once raised Lablache to the limit. The money-lender "saw" him and lost.
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