“No, I don’t,” agreed Red.  “But here’s the way I feel about that:  I want to be doing something according to my size; besides that, it would be a good thing for this place if some kind of a live doings was to start here.  All right, that’s my side of it.  Now, as far as not knowing that young feller’s concerned, I might think I knew him from cyclone-cellar to roof-tree, and he might do me to a crowded house.  My idea is that life’s a good deal like faro—­you know how that is.”

“I remember about his not letting the people go, but I’m afraid I don’t know my Bible as well as I ought to, Will,” apologised Miss Mattie, rather astonished at his allusion.

“Let the people go?  Bible?” cried Red, laying down his knife and fork, still more astonished at her allusion.  “Will you kindly tell me what that has to do with faro-bank?  Girl, one of us is full of ghost songs, and far, far off the reservation.  What in the name of Brigham Young’s off-ox are you talking about?”

“Why, you spoke of Pharaoh, Will, and I can remember about his holding the children of Israel captive, and the plagues, but I really don’t see just how it applies.”

“Oh!” said Red, as a great light broke upon him.  “Oh, I see what you’re thinking about.  The old boy who corralled the Jews, and made ’em work for the first and last time in their history, and they filled him full of fleas, and darkness, and all kinds of unpleasant experiences to break even?  Well, I was not talking about him at all.  My faro is a game played with a lay-out and a pack of cards and a little tin box that you ought to look at carefully before you put any money on the board, to see that it ain’t arranged for dealing seconds; and there’s a lookout and a case keeper and—­well, I don’t believe I could tell you just how it works, but some day I’ll make a layout and we’ll have some fun.  It’s a bully game, but I say, it’s a great deal like life—­the splits go to the dealer; that is to say, that if the king comes out to win and lose at the same time, you lose anyhow, see?”

“No,” said Miss Mattie, truthfully.

Red thrust his fingers through his hair and sighed.  “I’m afraid I know too much about it to explain it clearly,” he replied.  “But what I mean is this:  some people try to play system at faro, and they last about as quick as those that don’t.  I always put the limit on the card that’s handiest, and the game don’t owe me a cent; as a matter of fact, some of the tin-horns used to wear a pained expression when they saw me coming across the room.  I’ve split ’cm from stem to keelson more than once, and never used a copper in my life—­played ’em wide open, all the time.  Now,” and he brought his fist down on the table, “I’m going to play that young man wide open, and I’ll bet you I don’t lose by him neither.  He looks as honest as a mastiff pup, for all he dresses kind of nice.  I might just as well try him on the fly, as to go lunk-heading around and get stuck anyhow, with the unsatisfactory addition of feeling that I was a fool, as well as confiding.”