The matter of seven dollars that Hennessy had lost the night before was still rankling, and this intimation that it was his lack of ability as a player that caused him to lose was hard to bear. He commanded himself with a visible effort and merely said:
“Maybe ye’d loike to exercise yer shkill some more the marnin’, Oi don’ know.”
“Well,” said Gallagher, “ye may have yer revenge an yer lukkin’ for it.” And the game was on.
There was some talk as they took their seats at the table about some of the others joining in, but Hennessy declared that he much preferred to play with Gallagher alone, and his wish was respected. They made it a ten-dollar freeze-out, and the others in the room gathered around to see the play.
For a considerable time it seemed as if Gallagher’s boasting had some foundation in fact, for he played cautiously, and several times abandoned the hand when he had one or even two good cards showing, evidently believing that he was beaten by the other’s buried card, but after he had got well ahead, Hennessy began to get good hands.
A pair of tens, back to back, he played cunningly, letting his opponent do the betting until the last card was dealt, when Gallagher bet a dollar on two eights in sight. Then he raised it three dollars, and, as this looked like a bluff, Gallagher called.
A similar play when he really held a straight with the middle card buried, against two pairs, netted him as much more, and the lucky chance of a third ace for the last card against three queens in sight enabled him to raise back to the extent of Gallagher’s pile after he had passed the bet and Gallagher had shown his confidence in his queens.
He had won the freeze-out and was calmly tolerant when Gallagher said, with something of a sneer:
“Yez can all see now what I said. Whin Mr. Hennessy has the cyards he can play as well as the next.”
“Oi can,” he replied, loftily. “An’ Oi can do betther nor that.”