CHAPTER VIII
I STAKE ON THE QUEEN
Jim had disappeared; until when we had made way to another monte table there he was, his hands in his pockets, his cigar half smoked.
More of a crowd was here; the voice of the spieler more insistent, yet low-pitched and businesslike. He was a study—a square-shouldered, well set-up, wiry man of olive complexion, finely chiseled features save for nose somewhat cruelly beaked, of short black moustache, dead black long wavy hair, and, placed boldly wide, contrastive hard gray eyes that lent atmosphere of coldness to his face. His hat was pulled down over his forehead, he held an unlighted cigar between his teeth while he mechanically spoke and shifted the three cards (a diamond flashing from a finger) upon the baize-covered little table.
Money had been wagered. He had just raked in a few notes, adding them to his pile. His monotone droned on.
“Next, ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. That is my business. The play is yours. You may think I have two chances to your 119 one; that is not so. You make the choice. Always the queen, always the queen. You have only to watch the queen, one card. I have to watch three cards. You have your two eyes, I have my two hands. You spot the card only when you think you can. I meet all comers. It is an even gamble.”
Jim remarked us as we joined.
“How you comin’ now?” he greeted of me.
“We won a dollar,” My Lady responded.
“Not I. She did the choosing,” I corrected.