“God!” he cried to himself. “What would that be to me! it would place me on my feet again! It would make me a man again—a man worthy of life and of her! God above, is it possible to win it?”
He saw a possibility, one chance in a hundred, and took it. He was well worthy his reputation of a high-roller. Down he went upon the layout with his chips; now betting one, now two, now three hundred dollars on a card.
The chips before him gathered like Arctic snow. One, two, three thousand dollars was passed—and yet he won. His face burned as from fever. He was on fire within. He could scarcely comprehend what was taking place, but that it was was sufficient; and a fervent hope, banishing sober contemplation, urged him on. He pressed his bets from two to three, and from three to five hundred, yet Moses Flood never spoke. He was glad to see him do so, for the other players, astounded by the seeming run of luck, were beginning to follow Kendall.
The silence, oppressive in its intensity, was broken only by the occasional rap of the cuekeeper and the labored breathing of the sleeping youth upon the sofa.
“Last turn,” said the humpback suddenly, his voice deep and husky in his throat. “An ace, five, and seven in.”
Then, for the first time during the deal, did Moses Flood glance at the cue-rack, and raising his eyes, like stars in his stoical face, he gave its keeper a look of such intensity that the fellow fairly shuddered in his chair. It was a command of silence which he dared not disobey.
Cecil Kendall placed his bets, and Flood made the turn.
The cues were right, despite the fact that six cards had been taken, and the humpback breathed a sigh of relief.
Something like an exclamation of triumph, half suppressed, broke from Kendall’s lips. He had called the turn and emptied the check-rack.
The recreant cashier of the Milmore Trust Company had won twenty thousand dollars on the deal.