"Now then, you're comin' to me, see?" he cried as he slipped the cards one by one from the pack and slid them to the players. "That makes first blood—an' the night's young!"
For a few moments there was silence while the players looked at their cards. This time Currie opened high and the others stayed. They took their draws and settled down. No one bet until it came round to McCartney.
"I'll just kick 'er along a little bit," he said, and put in his chips.
Two players threw their cards away, leaving Currie, McCartney and two others in the game. It was Currie's turn to bet. He picked up one card that had been dealt to him in the draw and was about to look at it. As he did so he hesitated and looked across the table. McCartney's eyes were on Anne. Something in the latter's face made Currie postpone his bet for a moment.
"Anne," he said, glancing over his shoulder, "you're sittin' too close to me. It ain't lucky—an' I don't like it."
His voice betrayed excitement and the girl was not slow to catch the implication.
"Say, Lush Currie—look here," she protested, "what are you tryin' to tell me?"
"Nothin' only what I said," Currie replied. "Don't sit behind me in this game."
His voice was shaking as he spoke and he fingered his cards nervously.
"Sit round here, Anne," said McCartney, his voice full of sarcasm. "He's jealous—he doesn't like you lookin' at me so often."