CHAPTER XX.
A SUPPOSITION BECOMES A FACT.
“You remember when Phil Clark was running up on Fifth Avenue,” begins the major, after the wine has been brought and pronounced only half-iced.
“Rather,” responds Chauncey, dryly. “I dropped five hundred there one night and it wasn’t much of a game at that.”
“Well, I drifted into Phil’s one night three years ago, more or less, and found the place as quiet as a country village. There was no big game going on, and mighty few small ones. In one of the rooms I found Col. Dunnett. You remember Dunnett. We were chatting and commenting on the dullness of the evening, when two young men came into the room and, after a glance at us, one of them suggested a hand at poker.
“I knew one of the young men slightly. His name was Stanley, I believe. Quiet, reserved sort of a chap. He hadn’t been in New York long, he said. Made books out at the Sheepshead races. I did not fancy his friend, who had been drinking some and was inclined to be a bit noisy. His name—let me see—Fenton, or Fallon; no, Felton, that was what Stanley called him.
“We began the game and it broke up after the hand I started in to tell you about. The betting simmered down to Felton and Stanley. Felton held four aces and bet all the cash he had. ‘I ought to raise you,’ said Stanley; ‘still,’ he added, ‘if that is all the cash you have—’
“‘You needn’t worry about me,’ sneered Felton, as he took a check-book from his pocket. ‘I said that was all the change I had with me, but my check is good.’ He scratched off a check and threw it on the table. ‘You can see that, or call my previous bet, as you please.’
“Stanley was as calm as I am now. He leaned over to me, and, spreading his cards, asked: ‘Major, will you loan me a thousand a moment to bet this hand?’ I glanced at it and had a trifle of difficulty in restraining my surprise. He had filled, as he told me afterward, the middle of a straight flush, king up!
“‘Cert, my boy,’ I replied, cheerfully, to his request, and I passed over two $500 bills. Stanley tossed them on the table, and looked inquiringly at Felton. The latter, with a smile of sublime confidence, spread out four aces. ‘No good,’ was Stanley’s calm announcement. He exhibited his hand, and then pocketing the stakes, after returning me my thousand, he remarked: ‘Thank you, gentlemen, for your entertainment. I don’t believe I’ll play any more to-night.’ And putting on his coat and hat, he left the room.
“Felton sat like one dazed for some moments. Then he walked to the bar and after a stiff drink hurried off. I never saw either of them after that night.”