“Then it was luck after all,” said the Red
Nosed Gentleman, “rather than management to save the day for your Jim Britt.”
“Entirely so,” conceded the Jolly Doctor.
“There’s a mighty deal in luck,” observed the Red Nosed Gentleman, sagely. “Certainly, it’s the major part in gambling, and I think, too, luck is a decisive element in every victory or defeat a man experiences.”
“And, now,” observed the Sour Gentleman, “now that you mention gambling, suppose you redeem your promise and give us the story of ‘How to Tell the Last Four.’ The phrase is dark to me and has no meaning, but I inferred from what you were saying when you used it, that you alluded to some game of chance. Assuredly, I crave pardon if I be in error,” and now the Sour Gentleman bowed with vast politeness.
“You are not in error,” returned the Red Nosed Gentleman, “and I did refer to gambling. Casino, however, when played by Casino Joe was no game of chance, but of science; his secret, he said in explanation, lay in ‘How to Tell the Last Four.’”
CHAPTER XIV.—HOW TO TELL THE LAST FOUR.
Casino Joe, when thirty years ago he came about the Bowery, was in manner and speech a complete expression of the rustical. His brow was high and fine and wise; but lank hair of yellow spoiled with its ragged fringe his face—a sallow face, wide of mouth and with high cheek bones. His garb was farmerish; kip-skin boots, coat and trousers of gray jeans, hickory shirt, and soft shapeless hat. Nor was Casino Joe in disguise; these habiliments made up the uniform of his ancestral New Hampshire. Countryman all over, was Casino Joe, and this look of the uncouth served him in his chosen profession.