He was. He had a full. Three aces and a pair of kings. No wonder he had been willing to back his luck. I don't know what his feelings were when he found that I could show still more.
"Fours. I think that takes it."
It did.
As I scooped the plunder, Silvester rose.
"Show four whenever you like--eh, Townsend?"
His tone was disagreeable, and meant to be.
"I wish I could."
"I should say that your wish was gratified. It occurs to me that this is distinctly a game at which the soberest wins."
We looked at him. He looked back at us. He was evidently in a state of mind in which he was disposed to pick a quarrel with us, either separately or altogether. The thing to do was not to gratify his whim. He treated Archie to a peculiarly impertinent stare. "That was an odd mistake of yours. I'm drunk, but I'm not drunk enough for that, and I never could be." He gave Pendarvon a turn--"You didn't choose your cards badly. But it's only a question of courage. Take my tip, next time you make it fours." He lurched away from the table. "I'm off. You're welcome to what you've got--cut it up between you."
He staggered from the room. Archie rose, intending, as host, to see him off the premises. Pendarvon caught him by the arm.