"How much are you betting?" the dealer inquired of Phillips.
Pierce had intended merely to risk a dollar or two, but now there came to him a thrilling thought. That notice at Healy & Wilson's store flashed into his mind. "One thousand dollars and a ton of food," the sign had read. Well, why not bet and bet heavy? he asked himself. Here was a chance to double his scanty capital at the expense of a rogue. To beat a barefaced chater at his own game surely could not be considered cheating; in this instance it was mere retribution.
He had no time to analyze the right or the wrong of his reasoning—at best the question would bear debate. Granting that it wasn't exactly honest, what did such nice considerations weigh when balanced against the stern necessities of this hour? A stranger endeavored to shove him away from the table and this clinched his decision. He'd make them play fair. With a sweep of his free arm. Phillips sent the fellow staggering back and then placed his entire roll of bills on the table in front of the dealer.
"There's mine," he said, shortly. "One hundred and thirty-five dollars.
I don't have to count it, for I know it by heart."
"Business appears to be picking up," murmured the proprietor of the game.
Phillips' neighbor continued to hold the boy's hand in a vicelike grip.
Now he leaned forward, saying:
"Look here! Are you going to cover our coin or am I going to smoke you up?"
"The groans of the gambler is sweet music in their ears!" The dealer shrugged reluctantly and counted out four hundred and thirty-five dollars, which he separated into two piles.
A certain shame at his action swept over Phillips when he felt his companion's grasp relax and heard him say, "Turn her over, kid."
This was diamond cut diamond, of course; nevertheless, it was a low-down trick and—