Plainly he was the chosen victim.

The winnings of Jerry Smith were carefully balanced against the losses of Ronicky Doone.

Hatred for this smooth-faced McKeever was waxing in him, and hatred in Ronicky Doone meant battle.
An interruption came to him from the side.

It came in the form of a brief rustling of silk, like the stir of wind, and then Ruth Tolliver's coppery hair and green-blue eyes were before him--Ruth Tolliver in an evening gown and wonderful to look at.

Ronicky Doone indulged himself with staring eyes, as he rose to greet her.