"Do you happen to have anything as good as three of a kind?"
Morton looked down at his cards as if he had just discovered them.
"Er—what would you make of them?" he asked, displaying them.
Rosalind gasped. She could see the hand from where she stood. It contained not even a pair!
"I'd make a resolution to quit," advised the boatman as he took the last of the chips. "This freezes you."
"Can't say I think much of your American game," and Morton yawned again prodigiously. "Ah—how much?"
"You've lost ten thousand, my friend."
"Really, now?"
"Honest and truly."
The boatman's hand crept toward his revolver. With a listless shrug Morton began feeling in an inner pocket. Presently he drew forth a wallet.