“Jackpots it is,” answered Guy. “Deal the cards, my philanthropic Joseph.”
During the next three rounds Phillip’s winnings dwindled until only a trifle over his original six dollars remained beside him. But on the fourth fortune seemed to favour him again. It was Chester’s deal and Boerick opened for half a dollar.
“Cards?” he asked.
Guy shook his head solemnly. “Perish the thought!”
Phillip drew one and bettered his hand. He held a full house, Jacks and eights. Chester drew three cards and imperturbably lighted a fresh cigarette. Boerick discarded one card and dealt himself another, placing it, however, face down in front of him.
“I haven’t the least idea what it is,” he said with a bit of a swagger, “but I’ll bet one dollar that it’s what I want it to be. And it’ll cost the rest of you about fifty to turn it up.”
“Silly child,” murmured Guy, “I’ll see your old dollar and raise you to the full extent of the law.”
Phillip followed suit, as did Chester, and for a minute the quartette solemnly and silently increased the pot. Then Chester, with a sigh, dropped out. Phillip’s ready money was gone now and he was staking paper. Boerick, with the unknown card before him, smiled aggravatingly across at Phillip, until any discreet notion the latter may have entertained of leaving the roommates to fight it out between them was overcome by a determination to lose every cent he possessed rather than allow Boerick to think he was frightened.
Chester had pushed back his chair and was leaning over Phillip’s shoulder. But whether he approved or disapproved of his friend’s betting the latter couldn’t tell. Phillip’s six dollars were now buried under a pile of chips, and he stood to lose more than he dared think about. Guy remained smiling and indifferent.