I've had
that schooling that you couldn't tell by my face if I meant to rip you
up the next minute--as of course I could do in less than a jiffy. I have
a knife up the leg of my trousers."
"You haven't!" exclaimed Schomberg incredulously.
Mr Ricardo was as quick as lightning in changing his lounging, idle
attitude for a stooping position, and exhibiting the weapon with one
jerk at the left leg of his trousers. Schomberg had just a view of it,
strapped to a very hairy limb, when Mr. Ricardo, jumping up, stamped his
foot to get the trouser-leg down, and resumed his careless pose with one
elbow on the table.
"It's a more handy way to carry a tool than you would think," he went
on, gazing abstractedly into Schomberg's wide-open eyes. "Suppose some
little difference comes up during a game. Well, you stoop to pick up a
dropped card, and when you come up--there you are ready to strike, or
with the thing up you sleeve ready to throw. Or you just dodge under the
table when there's some shooting coming. You wouldn't believe the damage
a fellow with a knife under the table can do to ill-conditioned skunks
that want to raise trouble, before they begin to understand what the
screaming's about, and make a bolt--those that can, that is."
The roses of Schomberg's cheek at the root of his chestnut beard faded
perceptibly. Ricardo chuckled faintly.
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