"Now, Archie, if you please, let us see your hand."
He faced his cards.
"A straight flush!" he cried.
For a moment he took my breath away. That he could have drawn two cards for a straight flush had not entered into my philosophy. My next feeling was that the thing looked ugly. For a man with a straight flush in his hand to propose to increase the stakes was--well, not the thing. While words were coming near my lips, Pendarvon leaned towards him.
"Where is your straight flush? Show it us?" Then, with a laugh, "That's not a straight flush."
Archie stared at his cards.
"What do you mean?" Then, with a shout, "I'm damned if it is!"
As he recognised the fact, he seemed to me to turn quite green, and he swore. In his haste, giving only a single glance at his cards, he had let himself in. It was all but a straight flush--a case of the miss which is as good as a mile. His hand was four, five, seven, eight, and nine of hearts. It was a flush, but not a straight flush--he had overlooked the absence of the six. The curious part of the thing was that he should have drawn to such a hand.
Pendarvon faced his cards.
"I fancy, Archie, that I am better than you."