Seated at the table, they produced fists full of silver and gold money and cut the cards for the first deal.
“Dollar limit?” inquired Warwhoop.
“Let’s make it a little lighter,” urged Touch. “With that limit my twenty wouldn’t last long if luck ran against me as usual. Luck—Grouch says you’re all thieves. He doesn’t believe there’s such a thing as honesty among poker players.”
“Grouch judges everybody by himself,” said Stover, who had cut “low” and was shuffling the cards. “Still, I’m willing to call it a half, with a dime limit; there seems to be plenty of dimes. Cut, Clinker. Your ante, South-paw.”
Touch piled up his silver dollars in front of him, kissing them, one after another.
“Good-by, boys,” he murmured. “I know we must part. You’ll soon be scattered among my good friends, these thieves. I love money, but, oh, you little game of draw!”
“Hark!” rasped Buzzsaw. “What’s that?”
To a sad and doleful tune some one in the adjoining room was singing:
“We from childhood played together,
Heap fine comrade, Jack and I;