He had sunk down into his chair until he rested on almost the small of his back, his legs were struck straight out in front of him, his chin rested on his breast, and his two arms hung listless at his side, a pipe half falling from the fingers of one hand.

All the facetious lines had turned to pathos.

In his face sorrowed the anxious, questing, wistful look of the St.Bernard that does not understand.
"What's the matter with the boss, anyway ?" asked Thorpe in a low voice of Jackson Hines, when the seven-up game was finished.
"H'aint ye heard ?" inquired the old man in surprise.
"Why, no.

What ?" "Busted," said the old man sententiously.
"How?
What do you mean ?" "What I say.

He's busted.