“An’ I can outswear yez, an’—an’—an—an’ I’m a betther man than yez in ivery way,” sputtered Long Mike, not seeming to be able to call to mind any more specific accomplishments.
“Y’ are not,” said Gallagher. “Whin it comes to dhraw-poker, I’ll play ye fer years ag’in minutes, an’ bate ye the two-thirds of all eternity.”
“Draw-poker, is it?” exclaimed Long Mike. “Av ye’ll coom in out o’ the wet an’ play a freeze-out, I’ll win yer money an’ yer house an’ lot, an’ the clo’es off yer back, till yer naked as a bald head, an’ worn out as a burnt match.”
“I’ll go ye,” said Gallagher, “f’r all I have, ag’in everything ye have yoursilf.”
There was a murmur of dissent and some derisive laughter from the crowd, for Gallagher, though fairly well-to-do according to the Brownsville standard, was the other’s employee and by no means a peer of the principal capitalist of the town, who, in addition to his visible resources, had money secreted in his house. But Long Mike raised his hand.
“Let be,” he said, sternly. “I have a lesson to tache this omadhaun. Faith, he’s growin’ too large to live in the same town wid the likes o’ me.”
And the unequal match was arranged. In half an hour’s time the two were seated in Sam’s back room, with all the chips in the house divided in two equal parts, and the game was begun with the clear understanding that the winner of all the chips could claim from the other all that he owned on earth down to his undershirt.
As there was nothing whatever to attract the attention of anybody in Brownsville to any other point, the room was crowded with lookers-on, and all those who could not gain entrance stood outside and discussed the probabilities.
“If Gallagher do play close,” said Stumpy, “I’m thinkin’ he’ll win out, for Long Mike’s the divil for bluffin’ an’ Gallagher knows it, worse luck!” And this was the general sentiment.
In the first half-hour—for the game was a long one—Long Mike’s luck was by no means good, and though the big man made no violent plunges, his pile of chips dwindled until Gallagher had all but a single stack of blues. Of course, there was no arbitrary money value to a chip, but they called them dollars for convenience, the reds being a quarter and the whites a nickel.