“Give me the twenty-five limit,” Smoke suggested.
“Sure; go to it.”
Smoke immediately placed twenty-five chips on the “double naught,” and won.
Moran wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Go on,” he said. “We got ten thousand in this bank.”
At the end of an hour and a half, the ten thousand was Smoke's.
“The bank's bust,” the keeper announced.
“Got enough?” Smoke asked.
The game-owners looked at one another. They were awed. They, the fatted proteges of the laws of chance, were undone. They were up against one who had more intimate access to those laws, or who had invoked higher and undreamed laws.
“We quit,” Moran said. “Ain't that right, Burke?”
Big Burke, who owned the games in the M. and G. Saloon, nodded. “The impossible has happened,” he said. “This Smoke here has got a system all right. If we let him go on we'll all bust. All I can see, if we're goin' to keep our tables running, is to cut down the limit to a dollar, or to ten cents, or a cent. He won't win much in a night with such stakes.”