"Very well, then," he said. "Since this fifteen dollars is all I have, and you will not let me buy any more chips, I will bet everything," and he pushed it into the center.
I called him.
"What have you got?" he almost screamed, leaning trembling over the table. I spread out my flush. With an excited laugh he banged the table a great blow.
"Straight!" he cried—and turned up four, five, six, ten, Jack.
He had already reached out an arm to gather in the money when the entire table burst into a clamor.
"It is wrong!"
"It is not a straight!"
"The money belongs to the Gringo!"
He lay sprawled out on the table with both arms round the pot.
"How?" he cried sharply, looking up. "It is not a straight? Look here—four, five, six, ten, knave!"