The youth grinned. His confident finger picked the card. It was black.

“You win, brother, you win. I told you. Now, who’ll win next?”

Again he shot a glance at Johnny. Again Johnny was silent.

Twice more the game was played. Each time the conman lost.

“Everybody wins this morning.” The conman’s fingers played with the cards, and in playing bent the corner of the black card ever so slightly upward. Johnny’s keen eyes saw it. When the card was turned, he had picked it right. Five times in imaginary plays the conman tossed the cards down and gathered them up. Each time Johnny’s eye, following the bent card, told him he was right. Six times he picked the black card correctly. Was the conman drunk? He thought not. His keen eyes studied the circle of faces. Then he laughed.

“Where do you think it is?” The conman bantered.

Johnny pointed a finger at the bent card.

“Why don’t you bet?”

Johnny laughed again.

“I bate.” A Swede standing near Johnny thrust out a five dollar bill.

He won.

“See?” jeered the conman. “You’re no sport. You’re a coward.” He leered at Johnny.

Johnny’s cheek turned a shade redder, but he only smiled.

Again the Swede bet and won.

Again the conman had the word “coward” on his lips. He did not say it.

Johnny was speaking. There was a cold smile on his lips.

“I can tell you one thing, stranger,” Johnny squared his shoulders, “I’m not in the habit of allowing men to call me a coward. I’ll tell you why I don’t play your rotten game, then I’ll tell you something else. That man, and that one, and that one and this Swede are your cappers. You had twenty-five dollars between you when I came. You got five from that stranger who left. When one of your cappers won, he passed the money from hand to hand until it came back to you. If 

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