“Oh, that's all right,” the gambler reassured him. “I'm with the house. I guess McNeill's credit is good,” he laughed.
“That may all be,” insisted Orde, “but I'm putting up my good money, and I expect to see good money put up in return.”
They wrangled over this point for some time, but Orde was obstinate. Finally the gamblers yielded. A canvass of the drawer, helped out by the bar and the other games, made up the sum. It bulked large on the table beside Orde's higher denominations.
The interested audience now consisted of the dozen men comprised by Orde's friends; nearly twice as many strangers, evidently rivermen; eight hangers-on of the joint, probably fighters and “bouncers”; half a dozen professional gamblers, and several waitresses. The four barkeepers still held their positions. Of these, the rivermen were scattered loosely back of Orde, although Orde's own friends had by now gathered compactly enough at his shoulder. The mercenaries and gamblers had divided, and flanked the table at either side. Newmark, a growing wonder and disgust creeping into his usually unexpressive face, recognised the strategic advantage of this arrangement. In case of difficulty, a determined push would separate the rivermen from the gamblers long enough for the latter to disappear quietly through the small door at the back.
“Satisfied?” inquired the gambler briefly.
“Let her flicker,” replied Orde with equal brevity.
A gasp of anticipation went up. Quite coolly the gambler made his passes. With equal coolness and not the slightest hesitation, Orde planted his great red fist on one of the cards.
“That is the jack,” he announced, looking the gambler in the eye.
“Oh, is it?” sneered the dealer. “Well, turn it over and let's see.”
“No!” roared Orde. “YOU TURN OVER THE OTHER TWO!”