Perhaps
it was by a sort of wireless electric tension that seemed to
pervade the air. At any rate, it was noticeable.
"There's no use staying here," remarked Garrick to me under his
breath, affecting not to notice the scowls, "unless we do
something. Are you game for trying to get into the stuss joint?"
He said it with such determination to go himself that I did not
refuse. I had made up my mind that the only thing to do was to
follow him, wherever he went.
Garrick rose, stretched himself, yawned as though bored, and
together we lounged out into the public hall, just as someone from
the outside clamoured for admission to the stuss joint through the
strong door.
The door had already been opened, when Garrick deftly inserted his
shoulder. Through the crack in the door, I could see the startled
roomful of players of all degrees in crookdom, in the thick,
curling tobacco smoke.
The man at the door called out to Garrick to get out, and raised
his arm to strike. Garrick caught his fist, and slowly with his
powerful grip bent it back until the man actually writhed.
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