The greedy little eyes of Culvera fastened on the boy. He made his first mistake. "How much you play back, Pheelip?"
The youngster answered. "I said a hundred bucks. I've got fifty-three in the pot now. That leaves forty-seven."
Culvera's raise was forty-seven dollars. The big Mexican shrugged. "Too steep for Jesus Mendoza." He threw his cards into the discard.
The boy who had been called Philip laid his cards face down on the table in front of him.
"Call it," he announced hoarsely. His eyes were fastened steadily on the nimble brown fingers of the dealer.
"Cards?" asked Culvera with an indolent lift of his eyebrows.
Philip hesitated. He had the nine, ten, and jack of clubs, the queen of hearts, and the joker. This counted as a king-high straight. Steve, standing back and to one side of him, guessed the boy's dilemma. Should he stand pat on his straight or discard the heart and draw to his straight flush? Culvera's play had shown great strength and would probably beat the pat hand. The lad took a chance and called for one card.
Culvera drew two. He left them lying on the table while he discarded leisurely.
"You're all in, Pheelip. It's a showdown. What you got?"
Philip had drawn the six of clubs. He spread his hand with a sweeping gesture. "All blue."