“So you do think it’ll bring you luck, after all!”
“No. But I’ll hold on to it for this evening, anyhow.”
“Not if we clean you out, you won’t,” said Charlie Loomis. “You know the rules o’ the old shack: only cash goes in this game; no I. O. U. stuff ever went here or ever will. Tell you what I’ll do, though, before you lose it: I’ll give you a dollar and a quarter for your ole silver dollar, Smithie.”
“Oh, you want it, too, do you? I guess I can spot what sort of luck you want it for, Charlie.”
“Well, Mr. Bones, what sort of luck do I want it for?”
“You win, Smithie,” one of the other players said. “We all know what sort o’ luck ole Charlie wants your dollar for: he wants it for luck with the dames.”
“Well, I might,” Charlie admitted not displeased. “I haven’t been so lucky that way lately—not so dog-gone lucky!”
All of his guests, except one, laughed at this; but Collinson frowned, still staring at the marked dollar. For a reason he could not have put into words just then, it began to seem almost vitally important to him to own this coin if he could, and to prevent Charlie Loomis from getting possession of it. The jibe, “He wants it for luck with the dames,” rankled in Collinson’s mind: somehow it seemed to refer to his wife.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Smithie,” he said. “I’ll bet two dollars against that dollar of yours that I hold a higher hand next deal than you do.”
“Here! Here!” Charlie remonstrated. “Shack rules! Ten-cent limit.”