“He just broke the crap game,” Mullins told her; “nineteen passes without losing the bones.”
“How much did he win?”
“Oh, he didn’t win much himself, but it’s the people betting with him that does the damage! They’re gamblers, most of them, and they play the limit. He took out the Black Jack bank-roll first, $4,000, then cleaned the ‘Tub.’ By that time the tin horns began to come in. It’s the greatest run I ever see.”
“Did you get in?”
“Now, don’t you know that I never play anything but ‘bank’? If he lasts long enough to reach the faro lay-out, I’ll get mine.”
The excitement of the crowd began to infect the girl, even though she looked on from the outside. The exultant voices, the sudden hush, the tensity of nerve it all betokened, set her a-thrill. A stranger left the throng and rushed to the spot where Cherry and Mexico stood talking. He was small and sandy, with shifting glance and chinless jaw. His eyes glittered, his teeth shone ratlike through his dry lips, and his voice was shrill. He darted towards them like some furtive, frightened little animal, unnaturally excited.
“I guess that isn’t so bad for three bets!” He shook a sheaf of bank-notes at them.
“Why don’t you stick?” inquired Mullins.
“I am too wise. Ha! I know when to quit. He can’t win steady—he don’t play any system.”
“Then he has a good chance,” said the girl.