When the cards were collected for a fresh deal Ralph asked coolly: "What are the stakes?"
"Nickel a match," answered Crusoe Campbell.
"Give me the worth of that," he said, throwing a five-dollar bill on the blanket. "You," he said, indicating the half-breed, "what's your name?"
"Philippe Boisvert," the breed announced swaggeringly.
Crusoe Campbell and Philippe made room between them and Ralph sat down. All looked covertly at Joe to see how he would take it. Joe, still scowling, kept his eyes down and said nothing. The game went on. Ralph's bluff was as yet uncalled.
Outwardly as cool as the ideal poker-player, Ralph was on the qui vive for an explosion. Under stress of excitement, his spirits soared like a bird taking wing. The corners of his lips twitched provokingly, and the shine of a hidden fire glowed in his dark eyes. He bet recklessly, winning and losing with equal good humour. His good humour communicated itself to three of the other players. All men love a good gambler. The ill-assorted game became almost jolly. Only Joe grew more and more morose. His face turned an ugly brownish red, and a vein stood out ominously on his forehead.
When the explosion took place it was not directed at Ralph. Stack, carried away by the appearance of general good feeling, during a pause while the cards were being shuffled had the misfortune to say, addressing Joe and Ralph: "You two ought to shake hands and let bygones be bygones."
Joe Mixer broke out on him so violently as to be almost comic. "You sneaking little two-faced informer!" he shouted with a whole string of oaths. "Keep your lip out of my affairs, will you? I'll learn you to talk to your betters! You make me sick with your lying palaver! Get the hell out of this game anyway! You ain't man enough to play poker!"
Stack hastily retreated from the circle. The breed laughed. Crusoe Campbell quietly confiscated Stack's matches.
"Give me another box of cigarettes out of your bag," the breed said curtly.