"Oh, that's it, is it?" sed Maxwell, getting white about the gills.
"Yes, that's it," sed Louis. "Let's see. Wot am I winnin'?" He counted up. "Six 'undered. Shall we leave off?"
"It ain't wot we arranged," sed Maxwell, pullin' in 'is 'orns. "I say, you fellers—Louis is right. We don't want none o' your interference, so keep yerselves to yerselves."
"And I'll 'ave no lookin' over our 'ands," said Louis. "Some people don't mind it. I do. Stick to yer own table, and show us yer backs."
"Wot are yer makin' a row about?" arst Morgan. "We don't want ter 'ave nothink to do with yer."
Upon that we turned our chairs so as we couldn't ketch sight of the other table, and it wos only when Louis and Maxwell spoke out that we could 'ear what wos goin' on.
"I sha'n't be sorry when it's over," whispered Morgan to me.
"More shall I," sed I.
If Louis'd carried out 'is threat of washin' his 'ands of us then and there, it'd been better for 'im. But 'e couldn't guess wot wos going to 'appen no more nor we could.
We all went on playin', and sometimes the room wos so quiet that you could 'ave 'eard a mouse walk across the flore. We wosn't surprised when Louis sed 'e'd won six 'undered; it wos part of the plot to let 'im win at fust. It's an old trick, yer know. From chance words we caught now and then, we knew the luck 'ad turned, and that it wos Maxwell now as wos winnin'.