"He will settle at one eighty-five," said Dodson. "Bolivar cannot
carry double."
XV
A BLACKJACK BARGAINER
The most disreputable thing in Yancey Goree's law office was Goree
himself, sprawled in his creaky old arm-chair. The rickety little
office, built of red brick, was set flush with the street--the main
street of the town of Bethel.
Bethel rested upon the foot-hills of the Blue Ridge. Above it the
mountains were piled to the sky. Far below it the turbid Catawba
gleamed yellow along its disconsolate valley.
The June day was at its sultriest hour. Bethel dozed in the tepid
shade. Trade was not. It was so still that Goree, reclining in his
chair, distinctly heard the clicking of the chips in the grand-jury
room, where the "court-house gang" was playing poker. From the open
back door of the office a well-worn path meandered across the grassy
lot to the court-house. The treading out of that path had cost Goree
all he ever had--first inheritance of a few thousand dollars, next
the old family home, and, latterly the last shreds of his self-respect
and manhood. The "gang" had cleaned him out. The broken gambler had
turned drunkard and parasite; he had lived to see this day come when
the men who had stripped him denied him a seat at the game.
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