As De Lara utters the words, he dashes the cards down, scattering them all over the table. Then rising excitedly from his chair, adds in faltering tone:
“Gentlemen, I’m sorry to tell you the bank’s broke!”
Chapter Thirty One.
A Plucky “Sport.”
“The bank’s broke!”
Three words, that, despite their bad grammar, have oft—too oft—startled the ear, and made woe in many a heart.
At hearing them, the gamesters of the “El Dorado” seated around Frank Lara’s Monté table spring to their feet, as if their chairs had suddenly become converted into iron at white heat. They rise simultaneously, as though all were united in a chain, elbow and elbow together.
But while thus gesturing alike, very different is the expression upon their faces. Some simply show surprise; others look incredulous; while not a few give evidence of anger.