A quarter of an hour passed, during which Smoke won and lost on small scattering bets. Then, with the abruptness that characterized his big betting, he placed twenty-five dollars on the “double naught,” and the keeper paid him eight hundred and seventy-five dollars.
“Wake me up, Smoke, I'm dreamin',” Shorty moaned.
Smoke smiled, consulted his notebook, and became absorbed in calculation. He continually drew the notebook from his pocket, and from time to time jotted down figures.
A crowd had packed densely around the table, while the players themselves were attempting to cover the same numbers he covered. It was then that a change came over his play. Ten times in succession he placed ten dollars on “18” and lost. At this stage he was deserted by the hardiest. He changed his number and won another three hundred and fifty dollars. Immediately the players were back with him, deserting again after a series of losing bets.
“Quit it, Smoke, quit it,” Shorty advised. “The longest string of hunches is only so long, an' your string's finished. No more bull's-eyes for you.”
“I'm going to ring her once again before I cash in,” Smoke answered.
For a few minutes, with varying luck, he played scattering chips over the table, and then dropped twenty-five dollars on the “double naught.”
“I'll take my slip now,” he said to the dealer, as he won.
“Oh, you don't need to show it to me,” Shorty said, as they walked to the weigher. “I been keepin' track. You're something like thirty-six hundred to the good. How near am I?”
“Thirty-six-sixty,” Smoke replied. “And now you've got to pack the dust home. That was the agreement.”