"Not too good," answered the boatman cheerfully. "How many?"
Morton took three, while Sam contented himself with one.
The Englishman tossed a chip into the center of the blanket, the boatman two.
"Er—what should I do now?" inquired the prisoner listlessly.
"Quit, call, or raise—anything you please."
"To call is—er—to equal the amount of your stake?"
"You've got the idea."
Morton added a chip to the pot and laid a pair of eights on the blanket. The boatman displayed tens up and nonchalantly raked four chips toward himself.
"Your deal," he said, tossing the cards across.
Rosalind frowned as she stared at the Englishman.