The patriarch then stumped over to Arthur's
cabin.
After dinner, Bennington picked up the book again, but found that his
brain had reached the limit of spontaneous mental effort. He looked for
Old Mizzou and the cribbage game. The miner had gone to visit Arthur
again. Bennington wandered about disconsolately.
For a time he drummed idly on the window pane. Then he took out his
revolver and tried to practise through the open doorway. The smoke from
the discharges hung heavy in the damp air, filling the room in a most
disagreeable fashion. Bennington's trips to see the effect of his shots
proved to him the fiendish propensity of everything he touched, were it
never so lightly, to sprinkle him with cold water. Above all, his skill
with the weapon was not great enough as yet to make it much fun. He
abandoned pistol shooting and yawned extensively, wishing it were time
to go to bed.
In the evening he played cribbage with Old Mizzou. After a time Arthur
and his wife came in and they had a dreary game of "cinch," the man
speaking but little, the woman not at all. Old Mizzou smoked
incessantly on a corncob pipe charged with a peculiarly pungent variety
of tobacco, which filled the air with a blue vapour, and penetrated
unpleasantly into Bennington's mucous membranes.
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