The other men stood or sat around the table, and Deacon played again in bad luck. That he was a good player was clear. The cards were merely running against him. That he could not take his ill luck with equanimity was equally clear. He was guilty of sharp, ugly curses, and he snapped and growled at the imperturbable half-caste. In the end Peter Gee counted out, while Deacon had not even made his fifty points. He glowered speechlessly at his opponent.
“Looks like a lurch,” said Grief.
“Which is double,” said Peter Gee.
“There's no need your telling me,” Deacon snarled. “I've studied arithmetic. I owe you forty-five pounds. There, take it!”
The way in which he flung the nine five-pound notes on the table was an insult in itself. Peter Gee was even quieter, and flew no signals of resentment.
“You've got fool's luck, but you can't play cards, I can tell you that much,” Deacon went on. “I could teach you cards.”
The half-caste smiled and nodded acquiescence as he folded up the money.
“There's a little game called casino—I wonder if you ever heard of it?—a child's game.”
“I've seen it played,” the half-caste murmured gently.
“What's that?” snapped Deacon. “Maybe you think you can play it?”