And the fourth was a short, but very thick man, usually known as Stumpy, because of his figure. His hair was of a vivid and gorgeous red colour, and he had no quarrel on the ground of nationality with either Gallagher or Long Mike.
The game was not a big one. People seldom played for very large stakes in Brownsville, except on occasions when strangers came to town, when sometimes there would be real gambling, for Long Mike had sporting proclivities, as well as means, and the one-eyed man had never been known to decline any sort of proposition involving a game of chance.
This afternoon they were playing a dime limit, but with as much spirit as if the game was for blood, and they had just called on Sam, the bartender, for a new deck of cards.
“I’ll have time to take in about three more pots,” said Long Mike, “afore the boat lands, so I’ll make ’em as large as I can,” and he opened the jack-pot for the limit.
“Well, ye may take three pots,” said Stumpy, who came next, “but I’m thinkin’ ye’ll not take this wan. Av ye do, ye’ll get more than that.” And he boosted it the limit.
The one-eyed man said nothing—he never wasted words—but he put up thirty cents.
“Here’s where I get a chanst o’ pickin’ up money,” said Gallagher, who was dealing. And he put up forty cents.
“Once more,” said Long Mike. And he raised again.
“As often as ye like,” said Stumpy, and his forty cents went in promptly.
The one-eyed man also raised it, and Gallagher fairly whooped with joy at the opportunity he had to make it ten more to play.