He asked: “Did Benjamin send you around?”
Doane inclined his head.
“Running things with a pretty high hand, you and him!”
“Keep away from that boy,” was the quiet reply.
The thin man looked up at the grave strong face above the massive shoulders; hesitated; walked away. The mate was again about to leave when young Kane spoke. He was in the doorway now, leaning there, hands in pockets, his eyes blazing with indignation and injured pride.
“Those men were my guests!” he cried.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Kane, to disturb your private affairs, but—”
“Why did you do it, then?”
“The captain will not allow Tex Connor to play cards on this boat. At least, not without a fair warning.”
The boy's face pictured the confusion in his mind, as he wavered from anger through surprise into youthful curiosity.
“Oh....” he murmured. “Oh.... so that's Tex Connor.”
“Yes. And Jim Watson with him. He was cashiered from the army in the Philippines. He is generally known now, along the coast, as the Manila Kid.”
“So that's Tex Connor!.... He managed the North End Sporting in London, three years ago.”
“Very likely. I believe he is known in London and Paris.”
“He's a professional gambler, then?”
“I am not undertaking to characterize him. But if you would accept a word of advice—”
“I haven't asked for it, that I'm aware of.” An instant after he had said this, the boy's face changed. He looked up at the immense frame of the man before him, and into the grave face. The warm color came into his own. “Oh, I'm sorry!” he cried. “I needn't have said that.” But confusion still lay behind that immature
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