"I hear Turk scratching," he said. "Excuse me for half a minute."
He went into the kitchen, and threw the old pack of cards into the stove. He returned immediately to his place at the table and the game went on. Nash's pile of blue chips dwindled steadily and Dick Goodine began to stack up the red, white, and blue. Mr. Banks seemed to be playing a slack game. Captain Wigmore played keenly and snapped at every one. Rayton left his chair for a few seconds and placed glasses, a decanter, and cold water on the table.
"Help yourselves," he said. "We'll have coffee, and something to eat, later."
Captain Wigmore waved the liquor aside, but the others charged their glasses. Goodine displayed three aces and scooped in a jack pot that had stood secure and accumulating for several rounds.
"Hah, Davy, you dropped out too soon," said Nash. "You got cold feet at the wrong time of day. Don't you wish, now, that you'd stayed in the game?"
"Wouldn't risk it, doc—not even for a ten-dollar pot," replied Marsh.
"Bah!" exclaimed old Wigmore, as he cut the deck for Jim Harley. Jim dealt. Rayton looked steadily at his five cards, then slipped them together between thumb and finger, and tilted his chair well back from the table.
"You look as if you'd been given something pretty good," said Captain Wigmore.
"Not half bad," answered the Englishman quietly.
"On the side," said Nash, "I bet you a dollar, even, that I hold the best hand—pat."