Dimly Rebecca began to see the lure of gambling. It was as contagious as small-pox. Minnie had caught the poison from Abe and his friends. In a world where there was no music, no books, no spiritual stimulus, where people had nothing but money, what else was there to fill the eternal emptiness but excitement?
The guests arrived. Mrs. Rosenbaum and her husband, the biggest department store owner of Los Angeles. Mr. and Mrs. Soikolsky, real estate owners of half of Hollywood. Mr. Einstein, the Tecla of California, whose wife and children had just sailed for the Orient.
As Rebecca was introduced to one solid citizen after another, she was unable to distinguish between them. The repellently prosperous look of the “all-rightnik” stamped them all. The vulgar boastfulness of the man who had forced his way up in the world only to look down with smug superiority upon his own people.
“Always with your thoughts in the air,” chuckled Moe, a stubby hand tenderly reaching towards her.
The sad eyes of the little greenhorn stirred vague memories in his heart. Warming things welled up in him to say to her. But Abe interrupted by calling the guests to their places.
A wave of expectancy swept over the gathering as they elbowed themselves about the table. Eyes sharp. Measuring glances shot from one to the other. A business-like air settled upon the group.
Abe poured a generous drink of whisky for each. “Nu, my friends, only get yourself drunk enough so I can have a chance to win once from you.”
A fresh pack of cards was opened. The deal fell to the tight-laced, high-bosomed Mrs. Rosenbaum, whose fat fingers flashed with diamonds as she dealt.
“You got to sit here, by me, all evening to bring me luck,” Moe whispered in Rebecca’s ear, and drew a chair for her alongside of him.
An audible silence pervaded the room. The serious business of the game began.