“I am,” said Collinson, swallowing with a dry throat; and he set forth all that remained to him of his twelve dollars. In return he received a pair of deuces, and the jubilant Charlie won.
He was vainglorious in his triumph. “Didn’t that little luck piece just keep on tryin’ to find the right man?” he cried, and read the inscription loudly. “‘Luck hurry back to me!’ Righto! You’re home where you belong, girlie! Now we’ll settle down to our reg’lar little game again.”
“Oh, no,” said Old Bill. “You wouldn’t let me keep it. Put it out there and play for it again.”
“I won’t. She’s mine now.”
“I want my luck piece back myself,” said Smithie. “Put it out and play for it. You made Old Bill.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Yes, you will,” Collinson said, and he spoke without geniality. “You put it out there.”
“Oh, yes, I will,” Mr. Loomis returned mockingly. “I will for ten dollars.”
“Not I,” said Old Bill. “Five is foolish enough.” And Smithie agreed with him. “Nor me!”
“All right, then. If you’re afraid of ten, I keep it. I thought the ten’d scare you.”