visible money. "A dollar a go?" Jake queried,
cutting for the deal. On the bed by the woman's
side was a tarnished, silver bag, with an ornate,
meretricious clasp; her two companions produced
casual rolls of paper money; and Gordon detached
five dollars from the slender amount of his wage,
his paramount capital. On a washstand, within
easy reach, stood the bottle of whisky flanked by the
motley array of drinking vessels.

Gordon Makimmon's five dollars vanished in as
many minutes. Oppressed by consuming anxiety
he could scarcely breathe in the close, stale air. Em
gambled with an affectation of careless indifference;
she asked in an off-hand manner for cards; paid
her losses with a loud laugh. Jake invariably gave
one rapid glance at his hand, and then threw it
down upon the table without separating his discard.
Mr. Ottinger, it was plain, was superstitious -- he
edged his hand open by imperceptible degrees until
the denominations of the cards were visible, then
hurriedly closed them from sight; often he didn't
look at his draw until all the hands were exposed.
He wrinkled his face in painful efforts of concentration,
protruded a thick and unsavory tongue. At
the loose corners of Jake's mouth flecks of saliva
gathered whitely; in the fleering light of the kerosene
the shadows on his face were cobalt. The woman's
face shown with drops of perspiration that formed

[[60]]

p059 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p060w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p061

v?