Oddly enough, they spoke chiefly of Jack Hamlin,--till then personally
a stranger to them, on account of his infelix reputation,--and even the
critical Demorest expressed a wish they had known him before. "But you
never know the real value of anything until you're quitting it or it's
quitting you," he added sententiously.
Barker and Stacy both stared at their companion. It was unlike Demorest
to regret anything--particularly a mere social diversion.
"They say," remarked Stacy, "that if you had known Jack Hamlin earlier
and professionally, a great deal of real value would have quitted you
before he did."
"Don't repeat that rot flung out by men who have played Jack's game and
lost," returned Demorest derisively. "I'd rather trust him than"--He
stopped, glanced at the meditative Barker, and then concluded abruptly,
"the whole caboodle of his critics."
They were silent for a few moments, and then seemed to have fallen into
their former dreamy mood as they relapsed into their old seats again.
At last Stacy drew a long breath. "I wish we had sent those nuggets off
with the others this morning."
"Why?" said Demorest suddenly.
"Why? Well, d--n it all! they kind of oppress me, don't you see. I seem
to feel 'em here, on my chest--all the three," returned Stacy only half
jocularly. "It's their d----d specific gravity, I suppose. I don't like
the idea of sleeping in the same room with 'em.
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