. . or to a spectre, either! What the morals of a
spectre could be, Schomberg had no idea. Something dreadful, no
doubt. Compassion certainly had no place in them. As to the ape--well,
everybody knew what an ape was. It had no morals. Nothing could be more
hopeless.
Outwardly, however, having picked up the cigar which he had laid aside
to get the drink, with his thick fingers, one of them ornamented by a
gold ring, Schomberg smoked with moody composure. Facing him, Ricardo
blinked slowly for a time, then closed his eyes altogether, with the
placidity of the domestic cat dozing on the hearth-rug. In another
moment he opened them very wide, and seemed surprised to see Schomberg
there.
"You're having a very slack time today, aren't you?" he observed. "But
then this whole town is confoundedly slack, anyhow; and I've never faced
such a slack party at a table before. Come eleven o'clock, they begin to
talk of breaking up. What's the matter with them? Want to go to bed so
early, or what?"
"I reckon you don't lose a fortune by their wanting to go to bed," said
Schomberg, with sombre sarcasm.
"No," admitted Ricardo, with a grin that stretched his thin mouth from
ear to ear, giving a sudden glimpse of his white teeth. "Only, you see,
when I once start, I would play for nuts, for parched peas, for any
rubbish. I would play them for their souls.
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