Nobody plays twice for the same pot." The hazel eye of Strann was grey with anguish of the spirit as he looked from O'Brien to the crowd and from the crowd to Satan, and from Satan to his meek-eyed owner.

Nowhere was there a defiant eye or a glint of scorn on which he could wreak his wrath.

He stood poised in his anger for the space of a breath; then, in the sharp struggle, his better nature conquered.
"Come on in, all of you," he called.

"We'll liquor, and forget this.".