"Let's take a little of their whisky," said the man. "It's about all we
can get out of this game."
Oscar, having set out to be led, rose from the table, cashed in his
checks, as his whilom friend did, and followed to the sideboard where
they were joined by the second man, and number one said:
"My friend Thatford. I don't know your name, sir."
"Woodford Dunne," answered our hero promptly.
"Yes, I've heard the name. I reckon you are acquainted with some friend
of mine, for I've certainly heard the name."
The men had poured out their drink, when number one, who had announced
his own name as Girard, said:
"That's mighty poor whisky. It's like the game--bad."
Thatford said:
"Let's go and have a little lunch and a good drink to wash out that vile
stuff."
"Will you go with us?" said Girard.
"You must excuse me, gentlemen; I am a stranger. I cannot thrust myself
upon you."
"It's no thrusting; we would be glad to have you join us. Thatford and
I are no strangers in New York. Really, I am glad to have met you. I
know a good fellow when I meet him. I am a sort of mind reader in
picking out thoroughbreds."
"If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will decline your invitation. I
thought I'd drop around to the theater and see the closing act.
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