"Doc will oblige, no doubt," Bunning-Ford replied quietly. "He generally carries the 'pernicious pasteboards' about with him."
"The man who travels in the West without them," said Dr. Abbot, producing a couple of new packs from his pocket, "either does not know his country or is a victim of superstition."
No one seemed inclined to refuse the doctor's statement, or enter into a discussion upon the matter. Instead, each drew out a small memorandum block and pencil—a sure indication of a "big game."
"Limit?" asked the doctor.
Lablache shrugged his shoulders, affectionately shuffling the cards the while. He kept his eyes averted.
"What do the others say?"
There was a challenge in Lablache's tone. Bunning-Ford flushed slightly at the cheek-bones. That peculiar pursing was at his lips.
"Anything goes with me. The higher the game the greater the excitement," he said, shooting a keen glance at the pasty face of the money-lender.
Old John was irritated. His ruddy face gleamed in the light of the lamp. The nervous twitching of the cheek indicated his frame of mind. Lablache smiled to himself behind the wood expression of his face.
"Twenty dollars call for fifty. Limit the bet to three thousand dollars. Is that big enough for you, Lablache? Let us have a regulation 'ante.' No 'straddling.'"