“These Virginians!” sighed Guy.
Boerick looked angry. Like all who pride themselves on their ability to play poker, he hated to lose—especially to Phillip, who was the veriest novice. He gathered up the cards and remarked sneeringly:
“It’s sometimes better to be lucky than to know how, eh, Ryerson?”
“I reckon you’re the one who is in luck,” answered Phillip. “If I hadn’t taken pity on you and called you’d have lost a heap more than you did.”
“Now will you be good?” asked Chester.
“Well, next time don’t mind my feelings,” replied Boerick, ungraciously. “I like to lose to folks who need the money.”
“Thanks.” Phillip smiled over at him sweetly. “I’ve heard you were a bit of a philanthropist.”
Guy and Chester laughed loudly. Boerick’s money seldom aided any one save Boerick.
“Well, it’s about my bedtime, fellows,” announced Guy. “We’ll play one more round.”
“Jackpots,” suggested Chester. “I’ve got to get back some of the stuff I’ve lost to you dubs or I’ll be on half-rations for a week.”