"Try the red again, Cis," said Frank, "but take up five pounds to guard against accident." He staked twenty pounds himself upon the red.
Cecil followed his advice: he had now five and thirty pounds staked.
"The game is made."
"Wait a minute," said the bushy-whiskered gentleman; "I have not yet staked."
He threw down a half-crown upon the red. These three were the only players who backed the red; upwards of two hundred pounds were on the black; and the coup was watched with breathless anxiety.
With unimpassioned, inexpressive face did the dealer throw down the cards, as if all the chances of the game which so excited the players were powerless upon him.
"Red wins," he again said, in his hollow indifferent voice.
Cecil raked the seventy pounds towards him in a sort of delirium: the sight of the gold was to him like a vision of fairy land.
The smiling snuff-taker snatched up his five shillings, and again requested him to take a pinch.
"Pretty game, sir; very pretty, when fortune takes you in hand."