"I stake myself, and when I make a killing it's sure all mine.

No thank you, old girl.

Much obliged.

I'll get my stake by running the mail out and in." "Daylight," she murmured, in tender protest.
But with a sudden well-assumed ebullition of spirits he drew her toward the dancing-floor, and as they swung around and around in a waltz she pondered on the iron heart of the man who held her in his arms and resisted all her wiles.
At six the next morning, scorching with whiskey, yet ever himself, he stood at the bar putting every man's hand down.

The way of it was that two men faced each other across a corner, their right elbows resting on the bar, their right hands gripped together, while each strove to press the other's hand down.