"Four," replied Wrinkles, plaintively.
"Gimme three," said Pennoyer.
"Gimme one," said Sanderson.
"Gimme three," said Hawker. When he picked up his hand again Florinda's chair was tilted perilously. She saw another seven added to the little pair. Sanderson's draw had not assisted him.
"Same to the dealer," said Grief. "What you got, Wrink?"
"Nothing," said Wrinkles, exhibiting it face upward on the table. "Good-bye, Florinda."
"Well, I've got two small pair," ventured Pennoyer hopefully. "Beat 'em?"
"No good," said Sanderson. "Two pair—aces up."
"No good," said Hawker. "Three sevens."
"Beats me," said Grief. "Billie, you are the fortunate man. Heaven guide you in Third Avenue!"