“With this memorandum and the chips in front of you,” said he, looking across at Kendall, “I owe you forty-five thousand dollars. You may bet the entire amount on a case card.”
“What’s the objection to continuing as we’re going?” cried Kendall, aghast at the offer. “I’m doing well enough as it is.”
Flood’s cold features underwent no change.
“You may make the bet suggested, Kendall, or come down to the limit,” he said firmly.
“You cannot get even by that,” growled Kendall sullenly.
“Nor can you win so rapidly.”
“Your proposition goes, does it?”
“What I say in this place always goes.”
Kendall sat silent for several moments. He already had won half of the sum he so direfully needed, but he could not believe that fortune would favor him much longer. He was a ruined man when he entered the place, and with only half the desired sum he still was ruined. To win the bet suggested meant to him—redemption. There was no alternative but to accept the offer.
Flood knew absolutely how Kendall would size up the situation, that he would take this one chance to square himself. He was not surprised, therefore, when the latter cried hoarsely: