"Make your game, gentlemen!"
"The game is made."
"Red wins."
The perspiration burst from Cecil's pores, the tightening suffocation in his breast was relieved. He allowed the money to remain in its place again to take its fortune.
"Make your game, gentlemen," said the dealer in his unvarying voice.
"The game is made."
"Red wins."
There were now ten pounds upon the red belonging to Cecil.
"Take up five," suggested Frank.
"No: hit or miss: I risk all."