"What of it?" replied Herman, nettled. "Do you accept it or not?"
The banker nodded in assent. "I have only to remind you that the cash will be necessary; of course your word is good, but in order to keep the confidence of my patrons, I prefer the ready money."
Herman took a bank-check from his pocket and handed it to his host. The latter examined it attentively, then laid it on the card chosen.
He began dealing: to the right, a nine; to the left, a tray.
"The tray wins," said Herman, showing the card he held—a tray.
A murmur ran through the crowd. Tchekalinsky frowned for a second only, then his smile returned. He took a roll of bank-bills from his pocket and counted out the required sum. Herman received it and at once left the table.
The next evening saw him at the place again. Every one eyed him curiously, and Tchekalinsky greeted him cordially.
He selected his card and placed upon it his fresh stake. The banker began dealing: to the right, a nine; to the left, a seven.
Herman then showed his card—a seven spot. The onlookers exclaimed, and the host was visibly disturbed. He counted out ninety-four-thousand rubles and passed them to Herman, who accepted them without showing the least surprise, and at once withdrew.
The following evening he went again. His appearance was the signal for the cessation of all occupation, every one being eager to watch the developments of events. He selected his card—an ace.