Gordon shook his fat paunch in silent laughter, nearly displacing the board.
"I was just telling Robie," pursued Brown, still retaining his reminiscent intonation, "that this storm takes the cake over anything"---- At this point Steve Roach and another fellow entered.

Steve was Ridings' hired hand, a herculean fellow, with a drawl, and a liability for taking offense quite as remarkable.
"Say! gents, I'm no spring rooster, but this jest gits away with anything in line of cold _I_ ever see." While this communication was being received in ruminative silence, Steve was holding his ears in his hand and gazing at the intent champions at the board.

There they sat; the old Squire panting and wheezing in his excitement, for he was planning a great "snap" on the Colonel, whose red and freckled nose almost touched the board.

It was a solemn battle hour.

The wind howled mournfully outside, the timbers of the store creaked in the cold, and the huge cannon stove roared in steady bass.
"Speaking about ears," said Steve, after a silence, "dummed if I'd like t' be quite s' bare 'round the ears as Kernel there.