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Updated: August 16, 2024
"If it won't tip it won't, and I'll bet you a hundred dollars that you can't tip it, Herby." Tressilvain, pressing his hands hard on the polished edge, tried to move the table; then he stood up and tried. It was too heavy and solid, and he could do nothing except by actually lifting it or by seizing it in both hands and dragging it about.
Also, with a malice which Tressilvain ignored, he forced formalities, holding everybody ruthlessly to iron-clad rule, taking penalties, enforcing the most rigid etiquette.
"Good-night," he said, lingering at the door to look upon and enjoy the fruit of his perversity and malice. "When I start on that journey I mentioned to you I'll leave something for you and Herby merely to show you how much I think of my own people a little gift a trifle! No no!" lifting his hand with smiling depreciation as Tressilvain began to thank him. "One must look out for one's own family.
"Those are nice tricks, aren't they?" asked Malcourt, smiling. "Y-yes. Lord! Louis, I never dreamed you could do such devilish things as " "I can. If I were not always behind you in my score I'd scarcely dare let you know what I might do if I chose.... How far ahead is that little mink, yonder?" "Tressilvain?" "Yes." "He has taken about a thousand wait!"
It's natural only natural to make some provision. Good-night, Helen! Good-night, Herby. Portlaw and I will take you on at Bridge if it rains to-morrow. It will be a privilege for us to ah watch your game closely. Good-night!" And closed the door. "What the devil does he mean?" demanded Tressilvain, peering sideways at his wife. "I don't exactly know," she said thoughtfully, sorting the cards.
"Bertie and I have been practising leads from trick hands," observed Lady Tressilvain, removing the ice from her glass and filling it from a soda bottle which Malcourt uncorked for her. "Well, Herby," said Malcourt genially, "I suppose you and Helen play a game well worth ah watching."
Portlaw was perhaps the sounder player, Malcourt certainly the more brilliant; and now, for the first time since the advent of the Tressilvains, the cards Portlaw held were good ones. "What a nasty thing to do!" said Lady Tressilvain sharply, as her brother's finesse went through, and with it another rubber. "It was horrid, wasn't it, Helen?
"No, confound it.... The backs of the aces were slightly rough but I can scarcely believe " "Have you a magnifying glass?" The pack has disappeared.... I meant to try that." "My dear fellow," said Malcourt calmly, "it wouldn't surprise me in the slightest to learn that Tressilvain is a blackguard. It's easy enough to get your thousand back. Shall we?" "How?"
"I never saw a bally table tip," observed Tressilvain. "How do you do it, Louis?" "I don't; it tips. Come, Shiela, if you don't mind. Come on, Billy." Tressilvain seated himself and glanced furtively about him. "I dare say you're all in this game," he said, with a rattling laugh. "It's no game. If the table tips it tips, and our combined weight can't hold it down," said Malcourt.
The loading-room was lined with glass-faced cases containing fowling-pieces, rifles, reels, and the inevitable cutlery and ironmongery associated with utensils for the murder of wild creatures. Tressilvain sat at the loading-table to which he was screwing a delicate vise to hold hooks; for Malcourt had given him a lesson in fly-tying, and he meant to dress a dozen to try on Painted Creek.
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