“It is the nine of hearts,” shouted Storm, placing it down beside the others.
The gambler quietly picked up the cards, and handed them to the man who was to deal. Storm’s hands were trembling with excitement as he pulled the pile of bank notes and gold towards him. He counted out what I had given him, and passed it to me under the table. The rest he thrust into his pocket.
“Come,” I said, “it is time to go. Don’t strain your luck.”
“Another five pounds,” he whispered; “sit where you are.”
“Nonsense,” I said, “another five pounds will certainly mean that you lose, everything you have won. Come away, I want to talk with you.”
“Another five pounds, I have sworn it.”
“Very well, I shall not stay here any longer.”
“No, no,” he cried eagerly; “sit where you are, sit where you are.”
There was a grim thin smile on the lips of the gambler as this whispered conversation took place.
When the next hand was dealt around and Storm looked at his cards, he gave another gasp of delight. I thought that a poker player should not be so free with his emotions; but of course I said nothing. When it came his time to bet, he planked down a five-pound note on the table. The other two, as was usual, put down their cards. They were evidently very timorous players. The gambler hesitated for a second, then he put a ten-pound note on Storm’s five-pounds. Storm at once saw him, and raised him ten. The gambler hesitated longer this time, but at last he said, “I shall not bet. What have you got?”